


Australia

by sg_fic



Category: Australia (2008), The Notebook (2004)
Genre: Crossover, Embedded Images, Fanart, Fanvids, M/M, Manip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_fic/pseuds/sg_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brokenhearted American soldier is reluctantly sent Down Under; he feels as though his life is over—but he has no idea how right he might be, what with the very same Japanese forces that had attacked Pearl Harbor only months prior now preparing to unleash its bombs on Darwin, Australia… Based on movie-verse Scott/Logan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Australia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774248) by [garfieldyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/garfieldyard/pseuds/garfieldyard)



> Just a couple of quick notes:
> 
> 1) I got asked quite a few times over the last couple of years to cross-post this fic here, and while I know it's not cool to recommend your own stuff - if you're only going to read one fic by me - make it this one; it's my personal favorite :D 
> 
> 2) Thanks to the lovely Garfieldyard (谢谢), a Chinese version is also available at http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-107391-1-1.html (Or at least it should be, I can't read a word ;))
> 
> 3) Bonus points if you can pick up on all of the Scott/Logan movie-verse scenes embedded in the story!
> 
> Lastly - all my love goes to paper_legends for her legendary beta. Girl, if you're around - I miss you and the many ways in which you inspired me to write ♥

 

** **

 

** **

 

 

**December 10th, 1941.**

 

The C-43 Skytrooper was groaning unhappily, shaking so fiercely that for a frightening moment, the soldiers on it wondered whether the pilot would manage a landing before they hit the control tower.

But the plane was finally slowing down, and the tremors tapered off.

“This is USAF Aircraft Alpha-Charlie-Foxtrot-8-5. We came to a full stop. Seeking permission to unload, over.”

“Copy that, Charlie-Foxtrot; permission granted.”

“Roger. And we’re going to need a team here, over.”

“A team is on its way. Welcome to the Commonwealth of Australia,” the air traffic controller greeted, and then released the PTT. _“Yankees.”_

 **\----------------------**  
**1**  
**\----------------------**

The pilot had lowered the ramp, and the young sergeant was the first to descend, followed by three privates.

“Sir?” The soldiers unloaded their rifles and kitbags from the plane’s cargo. They laded their possessions on their backs, further creasing their flight-ruffled uniforms.

“C’mon, in you go.” The sergeant put his hat back on and nodded in the direction of the vehicle awaiting them. He was a little surprised to see a Willys MB US Army jeep—the latest model, no less—Down Under.

While his soldiers loaded the jeep, the sergeant went searching for the driver.

Dust rose with his every step, sticking to his now-sweaty skin. Tipping his hat, he wiped sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform and cursed under his breath. They knew he and his men were coming off a twenty-hour flight; why couldn’t they have told the driver to keep a sharp eye out?

The heat was blurring everything in sight.

As if mocking him, a vending machine stood there, long out of use. _THIRSTY?_ it asked in faded letters, discolored by the burning Australian sun.

“You’re looking for this?”

Turning, the first thing the sergeant saw was the glint of a car key; then, he took in its proprietor. He soon realized he was glaring. “Oh, I’m sorry… I just didn’t expect… Well, I didn’t expect to see…”

“An Aboriginal?”

Self-conscious, the soldier nodded.

The chauffeur offered his hand. “Eddie Tallara, at your service.” He was an old looking man, wearing a worn denim jacket and an even older-looking floppy sunhat.

The sergeant shook the offered hand. “Sergeant Lon Hammond Jr., from the 33rd Pursuit Squadron.”

“The Air Force?” Eddie asked, making the young soldier tug at his collar uncomfortably. Clearly, he did not expect the local chauffeur would know of the American squadron. “Then what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be stationed at Pearl Harbor, where your government is keeping the real force?”

The accusation was clear, and Lon, as a representative soldier of the States, should have denied it. The proper answer to give would have been that the US government had decided to maintain a small force of Curtiss P-40 fighters in Darwin—but even that wasn’t entirely true, and Sergeant Lon Hammond Jr. was not in his most patriotic state of mind that day.

“It’s a long story.”

He wasn’t headed for Darwin. As a letter stamped by vicious red ink had informed him, he was no longer “qualified” to actively be a part of his squadron.

The driver seemed content with that explanation for the moment, and so the old man made his way to the jeep.

The young sergeant followed close behind.

 **\----------------------**  
**2**  
**\----------------------**

_“Mister Hammond? Mister Hammond… I came to say goodbye. I am leaving. They need me at the General Military Hospital in Petersburg… Mister Hammond, can you hear me?”_

_“And I need you here…”_

A bump in the road brought Lon back to the present. Reminiscing became all too easy, as of late.

Of course he could hear her! Could see the pity in her eyes as she looked down at the poor soldier, plastered from head to toe. His beautiful Allie…

“Sir, what is it exactly that we’re suppose to do here?” one of the soldiers asked, interrupting his thoughts.

 _Kiss the great southern land’s ass on the behalf of the States?_ “Patrols.”

“And for how long, sir?”

 _Until they remember us, stuck here at world’s end._ “They wouldn’t say.”

The late afternoon was incredibly hot. Even driving with the top down and the wind blowing in, it felt about one hundred and ten outside. The sky overhead was a clear and open blue; the sun shining brightly, already edging toward the massive reddish rock formations in the distance. Roads seemed to be sparse in the desert area; theirs was the only vehicle to be seen. Dry lands and plains of thorny acacia shrubs extended as far as the eye could see, making the sergeant feel more than a little agoraphobic. Vast plains or no, so very far away from civilization, he felt both lost and trapped all at once.

Judging from the silence that fell over his troops, they all felt the same. The unspoken truth—that they’d been sent to Australia for the superfluous cause of being in Australia as a living gesture of goodwill—hung above them, shameful and taunting. The privates were sent because they were unlucky men of inferior rank, and as for him…

As if reading his mind, Lon could feel the chauffeur’s (Eddie was his name?) gaze upon him; from the corner of his eye, he saw the old man smile.

“You still haven’t told me how come a pilot from the 33rd Pursuit Squadron ended up in the Northern Territory... You were a pilot, right?”

Lon could hear his newly assigned soldiers gasping in the backseat; they murmured with awe for a few seconds, until one of them spoke up: “Sir? You were a pilot on the pursuit squad?”

 _Shit._ Lon was hoping to keep his past his own business. _Damn this Eddie guy!_ He could forgive the old coot if he at least had the decency to _try_ and conceal his amusement!

“Almost.” Lon replied without elaborating, then changed the subject. “I thought this is supposed to be the ‘wet’ season?”

“It is. Gonna rain tonight like no one’s business.”

Lon looked at the sky. Except for a few small, fair-weather clouds, it was a lucid, unblemished blue.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Eddie warned, seeing his efforts. “You can tell by the humidity—that’s the key.”

“Humidity? It’s so dry!”

Eddie chuckled—a small, quiet laugh—and said nothing else.

Feeling the joke was somehow on him, Lon tapped his fingers on his M1 Garand nervously.

The silence was all too loud then.

“So this Lady Ashley...?”

“Lady Sarah Ashley, yeah. What about her?”

“Well, what’s her story?”

 _“Her story?”_ The driver arched his eyebrows. “Her story is that she pays me and I work for her!”

“Okay—” Did he say something wrong?

 _“Her story_ is that she’s the kindest, noblest lady one may find in these areas, and that’s why she volunteered to accommodate American soldiers at her ranch.”

“Volunteered?”

“I don’t know what they told you about the Kimberley Scheme or being divided into central and north, or the state of our army—”

 _“Well-meant yet premature,”_ one of the soldiers frivolously supplied. The glare Lon shot the kid made him pale.

“Really? Is that what they tell you in America?”

“They’ve only said—” Thomas, a red-headed soldier, tried correcting the mistake when Eddie interrupted:

“I don’t really care, boy. My point is that we had some pretty rough times up north lately, and with Germany brewing world-wide troubles—the residents will be more at ease knowing our allies are looking after us. Because seeing an American patrol force will help bring up morale and because unlike Australia, America apparently has soldiers to _spare_ ,” (at this point, Lon was controlling the urge to clobber the old driver with an almost heroic effort) “because of all of that, Lady Sarah Ashley made the very generous offer of giving every free room she owns to the US Army. And that, sir, is _her story.”_

Because his soldiers were watching, Lon gritted his teeth, biting off the comeback that was riding the tip of his tongue. He kept his opinions, as well as his impression of Oz and its armed forces, to himself.

The rest of the two-hour drive passed in complete silence.

 **\----------------------**  
**3**  
**\----------------------**

He needed a smoke.

Or a drink.

Or both.

Mainly, he needed to get off the ride before losing his mind, and with the ranch already visible in the distance, he could barely hold it together. The quiet, cramped drive was getting on his nerves!

But now, for the first time since he got here, he could see green fields and water reservoirs. What an improvement from the endless ochre sands on the way! He was feeling better already.

In the distance, the setting sun was kissing the mountains. Above them, the sky, now turning a delicate shade of evening primrose, was still perfectly clear. _Downpour my ass! …Crazy old nut._

Then something caught Lon’s attention and he blinked a couple of times, narrowing his eyes to see that—

“Farmers. They work for the lady.”

It was the first sentence to be said in the jeep for over two hours, and they could all see, now—green moving against green and brown against brown, men and women, aboriginals for the most part, working in the fields. Dozens of them—how come they didn’t notice before?

Eddie turned on a side road that led to the ranch. It was much bigger up close, but what struck Lon the most was the smell.  
…Manure…

 _Tons_ of it from the way it smelled… And if he wasn’t imagining it, he was hearing cheerful music coming from within the house.

They passed the heavy gates and drove into the backyard, where more US Army Jeeps were parked.

“How many soldiers are staying here?” Lon asked Eddie.

“At the moment? Twenty-seven. In a couple of minutes? Thirty-one.”

The jeep finally came to a stop and the men jumped off it, bones cracking after the prolonged flight and drive. The soldiers took out their belongings then quickly stood in a row, waiting for commands.

“This way.” Eddie began walking.

“At ease, soldiers. You heard the man.” Lon dismissed them.

They followed Eddie down the neglected gravel path leading from the driveway to the ranch. The yard was badly overgrown with weeds and small bushes.

“The gardeners will take care of that as soon as possible. That is, if we are to remain here.”

_Remain? How long have they been here, anyways?_

“Is the lady married?” Lon tried subtly, careful to sound respectful after seeing how highly the man regarded his employer. For a minute, only the gravel crushing under their feet could be heard, then Eddie cleared his throat as if he’d made up his mind.

“The lady is a widow. Her late husband had been spending most of his time in his last years—and apparently most of their savings—in Europe, leaving her only this cattle station after his early departure. And yes, it is very likely he’d been having an affair.”

Gravel turned into granite paving and the scent of manure became fainter; they were probably drawing away from the cattle.

“Adding insult to her injury is a group of cattle barons—English aristocrats led by Baron Fletcher and Baron Flynn, who plot to seize her herds. They had found that the land is not legally hers, as it was never properly bought by her late mister. If her lawyers fail to win her case, then this land will be Fletcher’s. Although legally she will still own the cattle, without a place to keep thousands of animals, they are very likely to fall to the baron’s hands, as well. That’s why the lady is negotiating fields in Darwin as we speak; she may be forced to drive two thousand head of cattle across hundreds of miles of the country’s most unforgiving land, leaving her ranch behind—watch your step.”

They’ve reached the wooden porch steps and Lon looked around. He was expecting a rambling country farmhouse—the fancy ranch was anything but.

He saw that the inner courtyard, now that it was visible, held a lively dinner party with decorative lights hanging from the fruit trees, long adorned tables garnished with food and drinks, and musicians playing country tunes. Many American soldiers were seated there, eating, drinking and laughing. Lon could have sworn he was back in

North Carolina for one blissful moment; unbidden images of his beautiful Allie came to mind. Smells of food reminded him they had nothing to eat since breakfast.

“Now the reason I was telling you all of this is not because I like you,” Eddie said, making Lon clench his fists. _What’s with this guy?_ “But because I want you to understand what your kind host is going through and avoid asking… _unpleasant questions.”_ Eddie paused, waiting.  
Lon forced himself to nod affectedly.

“Good. Here she comes now.”

 **\----------------------**  
**4**  
**\----------------------**

It was quite easy identifying Lady Sarah Ashley as she made her way down the yard with her entourage to greet them.

_Perfection._

From her tightly pulled hair, fastened with a single golden pin, to her dark long dress and her pale, seamless skin. She looked up at Lon—

She was breathtaking. Her blue eyes met his, her golden hair framed her head like a halo, and for a moment all was forgotten—his injury, the break up, his parents. Nothing else existed but her calming presence. He’d caught a whiff of her sweet perfume just before the moment ended.

Like waking up from a dream, Lon could hear the many voices of tipsy soldiers singing once more, the faint but constant stink of manure was back, his soldiers were lining up behind him, and his stomach gave a hungry growl. He was back in Australia, all right.

It could have been his imagination, but Lon could have sworn Eddie was looking at him funny, like a man who had just shared a most exciting secret and now expects a new kind of understanding.

“My lady,” Eddie then started. “May I introduce to you our latest arrival from America: Sergeant Lon Hammond Jr., Private Thomas Hart, Private Arnold Clifford, and Corporal Cole Dorsey.”

“It’s so good of you to come!” the lady greeted, and one by one, they took her extended hand.

“Let me take you on a short tour.” She began walking, and they closely followed her; her steps were elegant and measured, yet efficient. “The ranch can be roughly divided in three: the homestead, of which Daisy, my beloved housekeeper, is in charge. The fields and the automobiles, taken care of by my dear old Eddie. And the cattle station itself.”

They were now walking through the halls of the homestead to see the showers, toilets, and kitchen.

“Meals are served in the courtyard at eight AM, one PM, and eight PM. Should you miss a meal for whatever reason, come to the kitchen. I’ve yet to hear that the cook sent someone to bed hungry.”

Lon’s smile faded when he realized they were reaching the front door again…

Their hostess turned to face them. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, that the homestead is jam-packed at the moment. Our latest arrivals are accommodated in different sheds and barns, and we were already asked to allot grounds in which tents can be built for future arrivals, so in a sense you should consider yourselves lucky. Eddie will show you to your rooms, such as they are, and if you don’t have any questions, then I believe you might want to join the others for dinner.”

“…”

“Well then, I believe we are done here.”

But Eddie cleared his throat then. “My lady?”

She looked at him, bewildered.

“The drover…?” Eddie offered.

“Oh, yes. The drover.” Sarah agreed. She nodded and then sighed. It was the sigh of a woman who had set down a heavy burden and knew she must now pick it up again.

“The drover is…” She blinked. “Well, the drover is—” She sighed again. “He’s…”

Lon frowned.

“Well, as I said, my ranch is comprised of the homestead, the fields, and the cattle station. Since you are going to stay at the cattle station, it is best that you know that the man who is in charge of it. He’s… well, he’s… he’s Benjamin Walters-Graham,” she finally said, as if the name alone was self-explanatory.

“Yes?” Lon asked after the silence had stretched for too long.

The lady seemed to struggle for words until Eddie came through for her: “He’s a brute. A rough-hewn stock-man who we’ve only hired because we had no choice.”

“No choice?”

“Quite so. He’s the only cattleman in the area capable of a drive the scale we might be forced to have; plus, he scares the barons away.”

“He what?” Lon couldn’t help but laugh.

“You haven’t seen him. Broke a man’s nose and ribs just the other day.”

“He was protecting me!” The lady found her voice again. “He’s a good man; he just has his own way with things.”

And Lon did not imagine the dreamy glint in her eyes as she defended the drover.

Before ever even meeting him, Sergeant Lon Hammond Jr. was jealous of Benjamin Walters-Graham.

 **\----------------------**  
**5**  
**\----------------------**

Eddie left, and Lon dismissed the soldiers for dinner. He himself was in desperate need of a smoke. Pulling out a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket, he struck a match against the barn’s door and lit himself a cigarette.

With the first puff of smoke, his world began making sense once more. The smell of charred tobacco was ever so much better than the one of manure that, by now, clung to Lon’s bag, uniform, and skin.

Because smoking in the barn (that was his bedroom for as long as he was deployed overseas) didn’t strike him as a good idea, he stepped outside to the open grounds of the cattle station.

 _Humidity is the key, huh, old man?_  It wasn’t going to rain in a million years. The sky was still cloudless, and now shot with a trillion spangled stars. Lon looked at them, for a moment hypnotized by their simple, silent beauty and the chorus of nocturnal Australian nature.

There was a marshy area of reed and high grass fifty yards or so behind the barn, and in it, a chorus of frogs sang, trying to compete with the racket made by the grasshoppers.

It reminded him of the time he and his parents spent in Maine when he was a boy. His father was sent there by his grandpa to explore the possibility of expanding the family business to New England, and he grumbled and complained throughout the ordeal. For Lon, however, spending the summer months up north was nothing short of a Jules Verne adventure. He remembered rock-bound coasts, lighthouses, beaches, fishing villages, and thousands of offshore islands. He remembered the air being so humid that his mother would joke about how if she had a straw she could have drunk directly from the air, trying to lighten up his grumpy old man. He remembered clam-stands around every corner, and amateur fishermen carrying their fishing kits and empty baskets. How badly he had wanted his father to take him fishing back then… But his old man was too busy, and so an eleven-year-old Lon would go to the wharf alone and watch the tourists, mostly fathers and sons, patiently holding their fishing rods and waiting for trout. He always wondered what they were talking about while waiting. He always wondered what he and his father would have talked about.

Once, a nice-looking man turned to Lon and offered him to hold the rod. He and his son waited, smiling at him. Lon wanted to hold the fishing rod so badly, the temptation was almost alarming…He felt like he just stood there forever, gaping, until he turned away and ran back home.

He never came back to the wharf after that.

When they returned to North Carolina that fall, his parents had told him he was being sent to a military boarding school.

Lon took a drag on his eroded cigarette and then pitched it away and watched it die off in the mud.

His soldiers were staying not far from the barn, in three sheds that zigzagged to the north. Two of which were almost buried completely in fragrant drifts of honeysuckle, the sweet scent mingling with that of manure. Their location commanded a gorgeous view of Darwin, its lights shimmering in the distance, and Lon had to admit he would have much preferred staying in one of the sheds. True, the barn was bigger, but he had to share it with large bales of hay, the small single bed pressing to a crowded corner.

Lon walked idly toward the small marsh, enjoying the free time for as long as it lasted. A commanding officer was due at ten in the morning to show them their patrol route and teach them their section boundaries.

Midnight.

The singing stopped hours ago. It was lights-out at the ranch, and his stomach was resenting the fact he’d skipped dinner and lunch. But even with the lights out, the night was bright enough for Lon to see water shimmering behind a wall of reed. He pushed slender leafy stems aside; suddenly, he felt something landing on the back of his hand. He withdrew his arm.

Even in the pale blue light of the moon, there was no mistaking the huge spider that rested on the back of his palm.

Lon froze, his breath hitching in his throat. His new eight-legged friend froze as well, but its paralysation didn’t last long, his legs began moving in a fast jumble as it crawled up Lon’s hand.

Every campfire story he’d ever heard about the hazards of Australia came to mind, and never seeing a spider as big and fleshy before, Lon couldn’t move, couldn’t even call for help, a silent shout clamping his throat shut; his instincts telling him not to upset the creature in any way, but it was  _reaching the hem of his sleeve!_

Lon’s wrist was seized by a big hand; the painful grip loosened his tongue and he gasped in both pain and fear. The spider now couldn’t climb his sleeve, and so climbed up his benefactor’s massive hand instead.

The stranger had then removed his hand and approached the reed, bending some stems to allow the spider to climb back to its habitat. He slowly released the stems until it was safe to let go, and with his back still turned to Lon, he exhaled angrily.

He then turned. Lon couldn’t make out his face in the dark—only that the stranger rose about a head higher than him and was almost twice as wide.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” the stranger demanded in a heavily accented, thunderous voice, moving closer to Lon.

“I’m… I was just—”

“Stupid enough to come to the bog at night and stick your hand in dark water plants?” the man supplied impatiently; even though Lon couldn’t meet his angry gaze in the dark, he lowered his eyes, unable to even try to look at the man’s face. That’s when he saw the bullwhip attached to the man’s belt. Why was he letting one of the cattlemen reproach him like a nincompoop, when he should be telling the man thanks for the help, now fuck off?

For the second time in his life, it was happening again—he was a paralyzed eleven-year-old boy, so overcome with shame that he couldn’t utter a word… only instead of a father and son, this time, a pissed-off cowboy stood before him.

Lon swallowed thickly; he could feel the blood leaving his face.

“Get back inside,  _boy_ _.”_

Still shocked, Lon took a couple of steps back, until he came to his senses, turned his back on the man, and, suppressing the urge to run, walked to the barn.

 

 

Only when he made it to the door did Lon look back. The man was nowhere to be seen. He strained his eyes trying to make out the stranger’s figure in the dark, then yelped as a blinding lightning flashed, both startling him and hurting his eyes.

_What the—?_

It started drizzling.

In the space of seconds, rain was pouring down.

 **\----------------------**  
**6**  
**\----------------------**

Lon’s adrenaline lost out to his fatigue, and he slept, lulled by the angry rain hitting the barn; his rest was anything but peaceful. He dreamt of Allie, giving him water and bringing the straw to his lips, his body hot and itching all over beneath the cast, and there was nothing he could do about it. Then he saw the spider, black and fleshy against the white cast. Allie didn’t see it and kept the straw in Lon’s mouth. He was unable to speak, unable to move his tongue or point or run, and the water was filling his mouth, and the spider was crawling toward his exposed face—

With a gasp, Lon woke up, almost falling out of the small bed.

He rubbed his face viciously, still panting. It was early morning. The smell of moist hay was unpleasant and heavy in the air.

 _Allie_ … How could she leave him? It’d been over a year, and by now it was safe to say—she ruined his life. Completely and utterly.

By rights, he shouldn’t even be here! Sleeping in a barn Down Under, on a tedious mission that three scarecrows and a driver could have executed all the same!

Where did he go wrong? He was so patient, so attentive to her every whim! She wanted to dance? He took her dancing. She wanted to paint all by herself? He told her to take as long as she needed, he’d wait. She wouldn’t answer his calls? He came all the way to Seabrook Island to make sure she was safe.

And for what? To be told about this Noah guy? Why would she even go out with Lon if she still carried a torch for her first love? Why did she say she would marry him?

And he… he loved her, with all his heart, he did. He was naïve; he knew it now. At the time, he couldn’t believe, couldn’t imagine, her loving him any less than he loved her. Not when he burned for her the way he did. Not when he would have done anything for her.

But he knew it, at the end. When all was said and done—he knew he truly loved her; so he let her go.

He wanted her happy, and Noah made her happy.

By then, it was all that mattered to him. And he set her free from guilt, and he tried to make her laugh. So that when she walked out the door, she’d be truly free, truly happy—and she was, and he was happy for her. And to him, that was love—selfless and unconditioned. He could never stop loving her.

That’s why he could forgive her. If her feelings for Noah were anything like his feelings for her… Well.

He got up and moved to the sink—the only advantage that sleeping in the barn really had, and brushed his teeth. He then shaved by the old distorted mirror hung there and got dressed. It was six AM—no reason for his soldiers to be up before seven, and until then, Lon intended to find out just how nice the cook really was.

He exited the barn.

 **\----------------------**  
**7**  
**\----------------------**

_“Thomas?!”_

Not only was the red-headed soldier up and about, he was wearing his B-class uniform, carrying a heap of straw.

“Good morning, sir!” The soldier stood at attention, still holding the hay.

“At ease,” Lon told him, confused. “What are you doing up?”

“Stocking mulch so that it wouldn’t get wet, sir!”

“Why?!”

“GOOD MORNING, SIR!” Before Thomas could answer, Arnold and Cole had arrived; upon seeing their sergeant, they stood at attention.

“At ease,” Lon decreed impatiently. They were both carrying  _mulch_  as well. “Can someone please tell me what are you doing and why?”

“Working, sir! We were summoned by Mister Graham, sir!”

 _Mister Graham?_  Oh, yes—the brute cattleman they were warned about…

“Where is he?”

Who the hell did the man think he was to order his soldiers without talking to him? Time to find out what made the barons so scared.

 **\----------------------**  
**8**  
**\----------------------**

Lon walked toward a massive man who stood with his back to them, facing a supply truck from which two aboriginal men were unloading a large trunk.

“Excuse me!” Lon stood behind the man.

Benjamin Walters-Graham looked over his shoulder, and then turned.

“Hi, I’m Sergeant Lon Hamm—” Lon extended his hand, but as the man turned, Lon saw the golden stack of forage he was carrying; before he could say “Jack Robinson,” Lon found his arms full of hay.

“Central barn,” Benjamin said in a thick Australian accent. The hay was blocking Lon’s view, but if looks could kill—then his glare would have scorched its way past the straw.

Now, however, he was stuck with this stupid heap in his arms. Fuming, he took it to the barn, cursing the rude cattleman with every step he made. He dropped it angrily and dusted off the lapel of his uniform, pulling out any stems that had gotten stuck in his epaulettes and chevrons.

He then made his way back.

The man was resting at the veranda, staring at the horizon, ignoring Lon completely. The young soldier mounted the wooden steps. The cattleman didn’t even blink or stop chewing on his tobacco—a nasty habit that Lon never understood.

“Benjamin Walters, right?”

Indifferent, the man turned his head, and a second surge of jealousy washed over Lon Hammond Jr.

He now understood the lady’s regard for the brute. He looked like a movie star. The hero of a western, maybe, with his broad, heavily stubbled jaw; opened collar that dipped to expose a built, sweat-glistening chest; and the general air of control and authority the man had to him. A draft played with the man’s unruly bangs, and for a short moment, his brown eyes held a glint of mischief, but Lon blinked, and it was gone.

“Yeah, what?”

“Sergeant Lon Hammond Jr. I need to talk to you—” But his eloquence ended once the man pushed away from the rail he’d been leaning against and began moving toward him.

“What accent is that?” the man asked, sounding completely indifferent and yet smiling ever so slightly.

Lon blinked. He wasn’t aware of his accent and was always taken aback when people inquired about it.

“Originally Tulsa, Oklahoma?” Why did it come off as a question? Lon did not intend for it to be a question…

His back hit a wooden wall, and that’s when Lon realized that as the man had been stepping closer, he’d been stepping back. He gulped and looked up at the cowboy. A faint sense of déjà vu then became alarmingly clear. The man was about a head higher than him and was almost twice as wide… Lon searched and found the bullwhip, attached to the man’s belt.

Lon lifted his gaze. The man didn’t seem able to control the twitching corners of his mouth, and after a moment, he gave up and chuckled haughtily, eyes locked with Lon’s.

It made his mouth run dry.

“So… you were saying, Oklahoma?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, darling.”

“Don’t call me  _that!_ _”_   Inside, Lon was fuming—offense and rage making him dizzy; his heart was beating fast, but the rest of him was frozen, pinned by the man’s insightful gaze.

Benjamin closed his eyes and smiled, then opened them slowly, unimpressed.

Lon could have just  _smacked_  him then! “Who do you think you are, bossing my soldiers around?!” It came off childish, but the man was just too annoying! Losing his temper was so easy around the smug bastard, and with the weather being so yellow-dog hot like this, an argument could spin itself out of thin air.

“They live at the cattle station—they work at the cattle station. You too.”

“The soldiers who are staying at the homestead are not—”

“I don’t care what they do; they’re not my concern. You got problems with that, you take it to your commending officers and tell them to find you another place to stay,  _boy_. _”_

It was then that Lon’s fist took a life of its own, clenching, fully intent on meeting the man’s broad jaw, but Benjamin turned away from him, donned his hat, and exited the veranda… leaving Lon with a bitter taste in his mouth, his palms sweaty and his blood boiling.

At the very least, the man clearly didn’t recognize him from the previous night.

“Oh, and Oklahoma?” Benjamin asked without turning,

Lon’s only response was to grit his teeth.

“Stay away from the bog. I may not be there next time.”

 **\----------------------**  
**9**  
**\----------------------**

Damn him, damn him,  _damn him!_

Lon had intentionally dismissed his soldiers right after his “talk” with the rude ass, but a glance at his watch told him it was time for breakfast anyway, and that his attempt at mutiny would go unnoticed.

_Bastard!_

His insides had been shaky all morning, he was so pissed! He didn’t know what upset him more: the man with his cocky smile and king-of-the-world attitude, or the fact that the cowboy’s plan was working! On their way to Darwin, Lon saw other soldiers working for the crass, unwashed heathen in the cattle station.

He was feeling a little better now that they were in Darwin, away from the ranch. The city itself was… well, a lot like Maine, really. John, their commanding officer in Darwin, drove slowly down Main Street toward the  _Darwin General Mercantile and Hardware_. There was a rusty sign with an oyster on it hanging from one corner of the porch, completely still in the hot, humid air, and another sign informing them that this was also the postal substation. On the other side of the road, two hotels faced each other like a couple of old rivals in an eternal stance; they were called “The Northern Hotel” and “The Territory Hotel.” Beside them stood the “Pearl Outdoor Picture Place;” black and white posters of upcoming movies graced its front.

Driving further up, they could now see the wharf; small boats carrying the logo _“Qantas Empire Airways LTD”_  were waiting in a row, tied to a dock beside a sign advertising ITALIAN SANDWICHES—PIZZA—GROGS—FISHING LICENCES.

It all looked so peaceful; if Lon wasn’t in his A-class uniform and carrying a rifle in this heat, it would have felt like a vacation.

But like everything else since he’d gotten here, it was too good to last. A little further up the road was the CCC δ, or the “Carney Cattle Co.,” and at its front stood a long man who was in the middle of an intense, surreptitious conversation with a short Asian.

John, who was driving, brought the jeep to a stop. “Fletcher! Yuen Po!” he called and waved.

“Lieutenant John, my good feller! G’day!”

 _Fletcher?_ Lon wrinkled his forehead, trying to remember.  _“If her lawyers fail to win her case, then this land will be Fletcher’s…”_

The baron was a tall, skinny man, as pale as the haze that was slowly suffocating the horizon. He was mustached and wore golden glasses, and even without Eddie’s warnings, Lon hated the guy on first sight.

“How many soldiers now?” the baron asked.

“Thirty-one,” John said.

“I see, I see.” He removed his spectacles and cleaned them, then put them back on, adjusting them on his pointy nose. “Well, not to worry. Nothing will change once the land is in my possession. I am, as always, a friend of the American Army.”

“How much longer until then?”

“At this rate? Less than a month.”

“I thought you said three?”

“…Things change.”

And the baron smiled a cold, toothy smile that made Lon’s skin crawl.

 **\----------------------**  
**10**  
**\----------------------**

“It’s gonna rain cats and dogs today, I’d bet my rank and lot on it,” John said, but it won him no response.

Baron Fletcher’s words weight upon Lon’s mind for the rest of the afternoon. He thought he understood Eddie’s secret now—the thought of the noble lady bankrupted by that slime-ball of a baron! Lon wished he could do something for her.

Australian dust—dry, thin powder, by now so familiar and constant no one would even notice it unless it wasn’t there anymore, was rising in big clouds as the jeep made its way back to the ranch.

“Slow down,” Lon said to the officer. They day was still somewhat clear when they left Darwin, but now the humidity had returned with a vengeance. It turned Lon’s shirt into a clammy mess  that clung to his chest and back, but worse—it made the visibility lousy, and Lon Hammond Jr. had been in one accident too many, thank you.

“Slow down!” Lon insisted, and the officer, now clearly pissed, hit the brakes, bringing the jeep to a complete stop.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Hammond Jr., but I don’t recall asking for your help when I took the wheel. You must be confusing me with the chauffeur Mommy and Daddy got you for your sweet sixteen, so if my driving upsets you so much—”

_Thud-thud._

The five men exchanged bewildered glances.

_Thud-thud-thud-thud…_

There was no denying the gallops now. A cow crossed their path about sixty yards in front of them. …exactly where the jeep would have been if John hadn’t stopped.

_Thud-thud-THUD-thud…_

_Thud… thud…thud-thud-thud._

 

_Thud-thud-thud-thud…Thud—thud—thud._

_THUD-THUD-THUD…thud-thud…thud._

_Thud… thud…thud-thud-thud._

_Thud-thud-THUD-thud…_

Massive clouds of dust rose all around them, as cattle—dozens upon dozens of cows—ran across the road.

 _“Ya,_ _ya!”_  The first cattleman, riding to the herd’s right, passed them, followed by two other mounted men, three shepherd dogs, which added their barks to the methodical chaos, and last was the rear guard—

The first thing Lon saw was the whip—at least ten feet of plaited bullwhip cutting through the air as if it had life of its own. Then he saw its master, lashing out, rhythmically cracking it, noisily filling the air as he rode. Driving forward—his expression was one of determination and rage, his body a tightly controlled mass of brute strength, his legs long, lean, and perfect in his riding jumpers…

Oh God, how Lon  _hated_  Benjamin Walters-Graham!

 

Seconds later, the cattle were gone, but Lon knew it was a sight he’d never forget, the rush of adrenaline still lingering in his blood. He thought he knew how to ride a horse until that moment. Now his polite Sunday morning rides with Allie looked like child’s play to him. A little bitter, he sank back into his seat.

John drove slowly and quietly for the rest of the ride.

It didn’t rain that day.

 **\----------------------**  
**11**   
**\----------------------**

The CCC δ was originally a barn. Baron Neil Fletcher bought it for shillings in 1936, upon his arrival to Darwin. He slapped some fresh color to the pentagonal wooden structure and began running his business from there, soon becoming the largest cattle breeder in the Northern Territories. He was joined by the round baron Kipling Flynn in 1940, and with his help he came to a special…  _understanding_ , with the other, lesser cattle barons who had lived in Darwin…

…The understanding that Lady Sarah Ashley was about to become the sole owner of a cattle station the size of Maryland and over two thousand head of cattle. Evenly divided by ten—that meant two hundred shorthorns per a man—an amount worthy of a collective effort.

They agreed that cutting her short of supplies would be best, but all too obvious; besides, with enough money, she would be able to summon veterinarians and supplies from the south.

Instead, Fletcher gave the widow, upon her arrival, all of the help and free supplies he could afford to. It didn’t take long for him to be invited to sip tea with the lady in her backyard and listen to her tales—stories of a lonely woman waiting in Yorkshire, then later in Sydney, for her freewheeling, devil-may-care husband.

Shortly after, he learned the lady knew very little about running a cattle station, and so he offered to help. Less than a month later, he had keys to the ranch and keys to the house… Little by little, he searched the homestead for the land’s deed or bill of sale, but he’d found none. Once he was certain the lady had no better knowledge of the whereabouts of such paperwork, he turned to the city council and, with the money invested by the other barons and himself, had purchased the land for twice its worth—an amount of money that they would never pay off, unless the livestock fell into their hands.

Fletcher had expected that the betrayed, heartbroken widow would leave without putting up a fight. He was wrong. She hired a local drover, took his advice, turned to the court of law, and the whole thing had been dragging on for far too long now. With the next hearing set for February, Fletcher was losing support among the other barons, and he couldn’t have that. Overthrows were not unheard of in this business.

“Well?” Fletcher asked, now that Yuen Po had finally joined him and Flynn at the CCC δ smoking lounge.

Yuen Po looked to his left nervously. An aboriginal worker was cleaning the cherrywood bar that was attached to the supposedly largest liquor cabinet in Darwin—the baron’s private collection.

“Brandy?”

Yuen Po nodded and took his hat off, absentmindedly playing with its brim.

Fletcher knew it was bad news then. “Darel!”

The aboriginal man tensed. “Yes?”

“Pour Yuen Po here a glass of brandy.”

The gurgle of the liquor was the only sound in the room.

“Good, now leave.” There was a brief silence as he did so. “Well?! Did you talk to her?”

“She would hear nothing of it—”

“Did you offer her the money?”

“Yes. She said her place was at the homestead with her mistress… Maybe if you’d let me talk to the old farmer—”

“Old Eddie Tallara? He followed her from Sydney and would cut his own tongue before leaving her side.”

“Then you should talk to your lawyers; better make plans, I say—be prepared for court in Feb—”

“Talk to them? No, my friend, you’re confused.” The baron lit a cigar and puffed out some white smoke. “See, when you’re too busy working, you have no time left to make money. I’m not waiting another minute with this!”

“What can you do?”

The baron took a drag on his cigar. “Tell me—what’s a ranch without its workers?”

“But we tried getting them to leave; they don’t care about the money! She’s being  _nice_  to them, and she pays the aboriginals the same as any would pay an Englishman.”

“We offered them almost twice as much!”

“I know. They… well, they  _love_  the lady too much.”

“True.” The baron stubbed out his cigar and watched it die, thoughtful. “When is the next shipment of cattle to Lady Sarah’s ranch due?”

Flynn checked his notebooks. “Two studs and twelve cows next week. Why?”

“Maybe it’s time to help the indigenous people fall out of love with Lady Sarah Ashley.”

 **\----------------------**  
**12**   
**\----------------------**

Old-man Eddie Tallara was making his way to the head of the table, where Lady Sarah was sitting, pale and tense; Daisy was holding one of the lady’s slender palms in her two bigger hands, offering silent comfort.

Dozens of convivial beer-drinking soldiers, as well as townies looking to have a good time, were eating, singing, and dancing in the inner courtyard. Dinner parties had become a tradition at the ranch ever since the first group of soldiers moved in. For Sarah to cancel one of them would be a sign of weakness.

“Did you talk to him?” Her blue eyes were wide and panicked.

“Yes, my lady. They came to the cattle station, as well and offered the workers better contracts. Benjamin gave them the flick. Told them to get the hell off, among other things I won’t repeat.”

That made the lady smile a little before dropping her gaze and staring at the crowd listlessly. “Will he come?”

Eddie smiled back sadly. “He was covered with mud an inch-thick when I came to see him; he is showering. I believe he might join us later tonight.”

Sarah nodded, and the old farmer grimaced. His lady was falling for the drover… How could she miss the obvious? Eddie loved her too much to see her get hurt again, especially after what that snake of a baron had done to her.

For a moment, he watched the youthful men and woman dance, their escapism spoiled only by uniforms, as they were obviously so far away from Europe in both body and mind right now.

The three new soldiers were there too, chatting to other non-coms lively, probably trying to understand what awaited them Down Under.

Their sergeant, however, was nowhere to be seen. Eddie was known for his leeriness toward strangers, yet he knew a good guy when he saw one. And Lon Hammond Jr.? He was a good guy.

 **\----------------------**  
**13**   
**\----------------------**

Lon sighed. He had no idea why he’d let Eddie drag him over to the courtyard, but the old farmer was adamant.

He’d shown up at the barn, catching a glimpse of the engagement ring that Lon was inspecting before he could tuck it back into his pocket. It had made the old man even more eager. _“Memories can wait; the people in the courtyard are flesh and blood,”_ he insisted, and practically took Lon by the hand.

Lon wanted to remind Eddie that the man didn’t like him, as the farmer had said earlier; but now, the smells of steak and fish lured him closer, so he was silent.

Blocking out the colorful lights hanging from the trees, Lon scanned the yard in search of Lieutenant John, hating to admit that the other man had hit his soft spot earlier.

Coming from old southern money was his curse; on one hand, growing up, he didn’t see a penny of it and was soon deposited into Uncle Sam’s care because “the Army builds character.” On the other hand, he was taunted endlessly by the other soldiers, who assumed that the world was being handed to him on a silver platter.

 _The chauffeur Mommy and Daddy got me for my sweet sixteen?_  They didn’t even visit when he’d turned sixteen, because the expansion to New England happened at that time.

But John wasn’t there… Neither was Mister Tallara... Lon looked around—Eddie was no where to be seen, but…

_Allie?!?_

It couldn’t be! Yet, even so—

As if in a trance, Lon followed her. In some far off, dreamy kingdom where the air was redolent of steak and fish, his heart was beating fast and his legs were carrying him across a sawdust-covered floor; but in his head, Lon could only see and hear and smell her.

_His Allie…_

“Miss!” he called and she turned.

Not his Allie. Just a girl…

“Yes?” the young lady asked.

Oh.

_Memories can wait; the people in the courtyard are flesh and blood…_

Eddie was right! He had put his personal life on hold for over a year now… Being sent to Australia made him feel his professional life was over, as well; but maybe he was sent here for a reason? The band began playing Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo,” and if that wasn’t a sign, Lon didn’t know what is.

Flashing his old, charming smile was surprisingly easy.  _“_ _Handsome, smart, funny, and sophisticated.”_ Those were the qualities that Allie had said made her fall for him… But enough thinking of her for tonight.

“I just wanted to offer you a deal.” Lon could tell he was smiling with his eyes—having the girl’s undivided attention made him feel alive once more. He realized he missed the dating scene. If this thing worked out tonight, he could take her to the wharf for dinner tomorrow… He knew just the place.

“A deal?” she asked, intrigued.

“Yes, you see—you will honor me with this dance…”

She laughed a sweet, contagious laugh.

“I’m a good dancer, let me tell you,” Lon said, laughing too. “And that would be your part of the deal.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows in fake surprise, flirting back, and Lon caught a whiff of her perfume. Definitely the wharf… at sun set.  _But where does one buy flowers around here?_

“Yeah, sure. Now my part of the deal would be—”

But he stopped as one of his soldiers drew toward them.  _Not now!_ He was so close, and she was so perfect!

“Sir!” Cole Dorsey called, unsure whether he should stand at attention.

Lon shook his head  _no,_  hoping the man would speak up and be gone already.

“Maggie? Are you coming?” Cole asked, and Lon turned to face the girl.

… _Maggie?_

Biting her lower lip, she nodded apologetically and then moved into Cole’s arms.

_“They need me at the General Military Hospital in Petersburg.”_

“Good night, sir,” Cole said.

_“And I need you here.”_

“…Good night, Corporal,” Lon answered, feeling the taste of ashes in his mouth. They were already gone.

_Well..._

Feeling like an idiot, the sergeant had no idea what to do with himself; he just stood there, alone, looking around in shame, hoping none of his other soldiers had seen him.

Now that he’d made a complete fool of himself and truly regretted listening to the old farmer, Lon spotted the man once more. Eddie was sitting on Lady Sarah Ashley’s left, and to her right—

_Wonderful! Just fucking perfect!_

No one here even  _noticed_  he existed or paid him any attention, yet for the second time now, Lon had blundered just as Benjamin Walters-Graham was watching.

Fuck, he needed a smoke.

As skipping dinner was fast becoming a tradition of his, Lon left.

 **\----------------------**  
**14**   
**\----------------------**

He was running out of Chesterfield cigarettes and couldn’t find any in Darwin that morning. “Stockade cigarettes” Eddie would call them and laugh. Lon leaned against the barn door, holding his smoke with shaky fingers, trying to calm down, when it hit him-

They were working in the cattle station tomorrow!

He wanted to protest, but had no intention of burdening the lady with his problems; plus, his commanding officer was a dick. Lon and his team had no choice but to work for the drover.

He tried telling himself that at the very least they’d be helping the lady by contributing to the ranch, but his pride got in the way. He was a soldier—he was used to being bossed about by jerks on ego trips, but this was different.

First of all, this Benjamin guy wasn’t a commanding officer of his, and second, the man was just so…  _so…_ fucking  _(perfect?)_ annoying!!

Lost in thoughts, Lon suddenly felt a burning in his throat and realized he’d smoked the cigarette all the way down to the filter. He tossed it away and stepped on it for good measure.

Tired enough to go to sleep, he entered the barn.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**\----------------------**  
**15**   
**\----------------------**

Benjamin Walters-Graham watched the dust rising on the horizon and set down the sack he was carrying.

Seemed like the good-for-nothing dipsticks came earlier this morning.

The jeep came to a stop before him, and the biggest dickhead jumped off.

Yuen Po. Again.

“Shoot through!” Benjamin growled. He fully intended on throwing the man out in three… two… one…

“No drama!” Yuen Po called, and two of his hired wankers appeared on both his sides.

“I thought I told you to get lost.”

“I didn’t come here for you. I came here for  _them_ _.”_

By now, the workers—American soldiers, local farmers and cattlemen—had gathered around them, watching them in tense silence.

“I came to offer you a better way to make a quid!” Yuen Po addressed the crowd.

 _“Leave!”_  Benjamin growled lowly, for the Asian’s ears alone.

“We will  _double_  the current salary of each worker—”

_“Leave now!”_

“And give each a starting bonus of—”

But he never got to state the number.

Benjamin’s elbow made contact with the wanker’s jaw; then, his fist connected with the second wanker’s cheek. He ducked—avoiding a punch to the face and picking up the sack he’d dropped earlier.

He rose, using the sack to block a fist to the stomach. And then he tossed the sack over, causing the shocked thug to stumble backward. It gave him time to turn back to the other thug, but the little coward was running back to the jeep.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, and when the clouds of dust faded, the jeep was already driving away.

Benjamin turned to face the stunned workers.

“Anyone here leaving to join the CCC?” he asked, dusting off his shirt, which was already a dirty shade of brown—and it wasn’t even seven AM.

He scanned the stunned faces. Coreen, a barefoot woman with two children by her feet and a baby in her arms, was tearing up.

The drover looked at her long and hard, then nodded. It gave her the courage to step forward.

“I understand,” he told the weeping woman, pulling her into a half-hug.  _“And she will too,”_  he promised, whispering in her ear before letting her go.

“Anyone else?” Benjamin asked the gaping mob.

Silence.

“Then what are you still doing here, standing like logs?! Back to work!” he barked, never looking directly at the sergeant, but quite enjoying the shock on his young, beautiful face.

 **\----------------------**  
**16**   
**\----------------------**

 _What a rude ass!_  Lon was sipping his coffee while his soldiers finished eating their breakfast. He didn’t have much of an appetite.  _Yelling at folks who are willing to stay for the lady’s sake!_

He was glad that they were doing the morning patrol and so he wouldn’t have to face the man until noon. It was hard deciding what was more aggravating—hating the man as much as he did, or not being able to stop thinking about how  _much_  he hated the man! _Smug, cocky son of a bitch!_

It was  _this_  guy who acted like the world was being handed to him on a silver platter! Yet people still picked on Lon…

Later, when they drove to Darwin with Cole at the wheel  _(Maggie, he’d called that girl…),_  Lon saw the lady and the drover standing together on the veranda, all too close for his liking, and the same bitter taste from last night filled his mouth. He had no reason to be upset, really. It’s not like he wanted to be with the lady—she was old enough to be his mother—yet he admired her. He was being protective of her. The rude cattleman just wasn’t good enough for Lady Sarah Ashley, and seeing them together was making Lon sick.

Disturbingly, it nagged him for the rest of their patrol, and Lon decided it was just his way to avoid thinking of Maggie and Cole spending the chilly night in each others’ arms while he was all alone in the barn…

Despite of the heat, chills ran up Lon’s spine. He watched his soldiers—kids who had nothing in common with each other, let alone with him. He hated to admit it, but he was never so lonely in his life. No girlfriend, no friends, and as for his parents…

_“You got a mobilization order, son.”_

_“It says Darwin, Australia.”_

_“Is that so?”_

_“What do you mean ‘Is that so?’ I’m not going to Darwin-fucking-Australia!”_

_“It’s a mobilization order, Lon. And watch your mouth.”_

_“The brigadier general is your friend! Talk to him!”_

_“It’s a mobilization order, Lon!”_

Lon watched the dry, endless sands on the way back, breathing in dust and thinking of how fantastically cruel God could be sometimes.

As boring as he found the patrol, he didn’t want it to end. He wanted nothing to do with the rude cattleman, but the cattle station was already in sight.

Time to face the music.

 **\----------------------**  
**17**   
**\----------------------**

“Hullo, ladies,” Benjamin greeted without looking their way.

Lon was biting the insides of his cheeks while approaching the man, which was probably the reason he wasn’t cursing passionately just yet.

They changed to B-class uniforms minutes ago, but Lon’s shirt and pants were already sticking to his skin—it was always so humid! Moist and hot in the morning, moist and a little less hot at night… Unless he was indoors, it felt like walking in a giant cloud all day long, breathing it in and letting it stick the dust to his skin until he washed himself in painfully cold water and stepped out of the tin shower stall… only to be covered in dust once more.

He must have done something horrible in another life, and Australia was his punishment.

“Take this tool box, Oklahoma.”

And the drover was his chastiser.

“After me.”

 **\----------------------**  
**18**   
**\----------------------**

They were assigned to replace a broken screen on a far side of one of the cowsheds.

“Gonna rain today?” Benjamin asked Eddie as the old farmer passed by with a wheelbarrow, making the aboriginal grimace.

“Nope. Gonna be as dry as a dead dingo’s donger.”

“Yeah, that’d be right.” Benjamin dropped the beams to the ground and stood straight, heaving, looking fantastic with his half-unbuttoned shirt and tight riding pants and R.M. Williams’ boots and damned bullwhip. Lon had to tear his eyes away, hate (and, admittedly, jealousy) making him grit his teeth painfully.

And yet, he was disappointed to hear the drover leaving to muster the pasturing cattle. He must be one hell of a masochist to feel this way, but once the drover had left, the work no longer held interest for Lon. He undid the big latches then the screws, and together, he and his men removed all other shreds of the old screen.

It was late afternoon by the time they were done disassembling the broken screen. The sunshine burned and the dust stuck to their clothes and skin. They were joined by other soldiers for this task, and now, the six of them took a break, sitting on a large stump of a baobab tree to watch the bucolic view of the sun set over the many trees and static windmill of the homestead. If only the heat would drop a temperature or two…

“So, did you see the way Mister Graham clouted those goons?” one of the soldiers, whose name Lon didn’t remember, asked, breaking the silence.

“That was nothing.” Charlie, one of the older soldiers at the ranch—two months maybe—had said. “You didn’t see the size of the man who was harassing Sarah…”— _Lady Sarah,_  Lon found himself correcting in his head—“…in Darwin.”

“What’s his story, anyway?” Lon asked, trying to conceal his curiosity.

' _Her story is that she pays me and I work for her!'_ Eddie's voice rang in his head, making him bite his tongue... But from the silence that fell upon the other soldiers, he could tell that they were curious too.

Charliewas now smiling, enjoying the undivided attention. “No one really knows,” he said quietly, as if to draw them closer. “On our first month here, we didn’t even know his name—we called him “the drover.” Not to his face, that is—we didn’t see much of his face back then, and he wasn’t talking to us, either way. Drinking with the flies, he did—for the longest time, I thought he was after the hair of the dog.” Charlietold them at length, clearly enjoying the spotlight. “But then, when the first soldiers began working for him—the ice broke, as they say; he started talking to them, and they learned he was no wino… but that’s about it. Later, he started talking to the rest of us, and still we know nothing. Only that he’s considered the best drover around here—you should see him ride!”

Lon wanted to say that he did, but bit his tongue. He didn’t like the way the other soldiers’ eyes glowed when Charlietalked about Benjamin.

“We should get back to work before it gets dark.” _Benjamin?!_ Since when was the ass ever “Benjamin” to him?

By the time it was too dark to tell pliers from a hammer, Lon was there all by himself. He dismissed his soldiers for dinner but had no intentions of joining them. He didn’t want to watch Maggie in Cole’s arms—or any of the other couples dancing like he and Allie used to do. So he stayed, working on the cowshed until it was too dark and too hot to be anything but a torture. He figured even passing the time by the barn, smoking Camels now that he had no other choice, would be better than this.

He gathered the tools to the sound of crickets chirping, and then made his way to the shed that served as their improvised cloakroom and armory in order to retrieve his rifle.

Lon opened the door, and it creaked in protest. He blinked his eyes, surprised that the light was on it the small shed.

“Had a good time with the cut lunch commando?”

Benjamin Walters-Graham stood there, shirtless, holding a half-empty jug of water. Drops were still running down his chest, dribbling down clear wet trails that mapped his otherwise dust-covered torso, until they glided over tight abs to meet the man’s belt, where the trail of body hair began to grow thicker.

Lon realized he was glaring. He darted his tongue out to wet his dry lips and asked dumbly: “Huh?”

Sometimes “Australian” was as interpretable to him as French.

“Cut lunch commando? …Army reservist?” the man tried again, in no hurry to get dressed or out of Lon’s way.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that they were…” Lon attempted to move forward—the drover was standing between him and his chained rifle, but Benjamin didn’t bother to budge an inch when Lon tried getting past him. Frustrated and embarrassed, the sergeant retreated.

“I… I need my—” He pointed to his captive M1 Garand behind the man’s back and tried moving in again, but the drover stood his ground, completely indifferent, forcing Lon to retreat once more.

“Can I  _please_ —”

Lon looked up and forgot what he was about to say. The man was watching him intently again, his brown eyes dilated in the dim light.

“You have a little…” Benjamin moved into Lon’s personal space, making his breath hitch. Lon could smell him, then; tobacco and leather, and feel his warm breath. He became very aware of the fact that the other man was half-naked.

“What are you—”

The drover reached for Lon’s face, sweeping two fingers across his cheek, wiping away a smear of mud Lon hadn’t realized was there.

“There,” the man said, but Lon could barely hear him; his cheek tingled where the man had touched him. His lips tingled—even his tongue felt funny! His knees felt weak, his heart was beating hard, and he was hot all over.

It was the shed! It was too tiny and too hot and the man was standing too damn close—

Feeling as though he might suffocate if the drover wouldn’t move, Lon pushed his way past the man and kneeled to unlock the chain.

It was too quiet then.

“Did you get your cows?”

“Shorthorns,” the man corrected, already dressed. He then donned his shirt and exited the shed.

For the second time that day, Lon found himself disappointed to have Benjamin leave.

 **\----------------------**  
**19**   
**\----------------------**

The shower was as cold as always, and though logically that might sound like a good thing, it was never pleasant. Nor was getting dressed in the dark, when his body was still half-wet, and the clothes stuck to his skin.

Leaving the showers, he could hear the music coming from the inner courtyard. The temptation to go there was never so fierce. Maybe he should apologize to Benjamin for insulting his shorthorns? He still had to work with the man, so maintaining a good relationship with him was important…

Half of him was mocking his sudden attitude adjustment—less than a day ago, Lon would have loved taunting the man in any possible way. The other half of him was reminded of the admiring way Charlie spoke of the drover. He hasted his steps.

Lon couldn’t explain it. Maybe saving a man from a deadly spider created a special bond…? He felt somehow possessive of the drover, now…

He didn’t have to enter the courtyard. Daisy was sitting on Lady Sarah’s left and Eddie on her right. Benjamin wasn’t there. Inexplicably disappointed, Lon walked back to the barn, unaware of Eddie’s eyes upon him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

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**20**    
**\----------------------**

**December 17 th, 1941.**

 

He realized he’d been doing it less—watching the ring she’d given back so casually.

Sergeant Lon Hammond was lying on his back, a lot more comfortable than a man lying on hay should be. It has been a rainy week, and Lon learned the hard way exactly where the roof was leaking, which was, among other places, just above his bed.

So he moved his beddings, using a thick quilt as a mattress, to the top of the bales of hay that were his roommates’. It turned out to be a surprisingly comfortable bed—a much bigger one than the tiny cot allotted to him in the dripping corner of the barn.

And now, even though he was looking at Allie’s ring, he wasn’t thinking of his ex- fiancée, which was strange. Perhaps he was finally busy enough… Flat out like a lizard drinking, as Eddie would say.

Lon was growing closer to the old farmer. Eddie was a good storyteller. A good man. Sometimes, he would teach Lon to speak “Australian,” and Lon would tell him about the States—aboutMaine and Oklahoma and North Carolina and even about Allie.

And he really was flat out like a—well, he really was busy. Doing the patrols was a boring routine, one that he didn’t think much of, executed and then forgot about the following minute.

Working in the cattle station—not that he would ever admit so out loud—was kind of nice. He didn’t know where hate and jealousy ended and admiration began, but the mixture was exciting; besides, not having the drover around made Lon tense. He waited for the man’s return—which was also exciting. Not that they were getting along any better, but when the man was around—even as a far-off silhouette working on something entirely different than what Lon was doing—Lon was never bored. He was fervent, working hard… when not sneaking sidelong glances at the other man. But, he hated it when the other soldiers were open in their admiration of the cattleman, and he couldn’t explain it.

There were no conflicting feelings when it came to the lady, though. His admiration was pure. She was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He hated it when she and the drover were standing close, exchanging secrets. Or when the drover sat next to her during the dinner parties that Lon had begun attending; that, he couldn’t explain either.

Lon stretched lazily and pocketed Allie’s ring. He promised Bandy Legs, Eddie’s nephew (to whom the farmer was like a father ever since his sister had passed away) that he would help the boy with the Christmas decorations today. It was weird—forgetting it was December was all too easy in this insane heat. Christmas was the last thing on Lon’s mind.

He climbed down from his “bed” and stepped out of the barn.

 **\----------------------**  
**21**    
**\----------------------**

The commotion outside was not what he’d expected to see. Before even making it to the courtyard, Benjamin had passed him with fast, heavy steps, bumping into him without paying any attention.

Lon clutched his sore shoulder. “Hey!” But then he saw Eddie and Lady Sarah’s faces and understood something was wrong.

“What crawled up his ass?” Lon asked Eddie before his words suddenly caught up to him and he began blushing hotly, unwanted heat creeping up his neck and cheeks. The look Eddie gave him wasn’t helping.

Only then did Lady Sarah Ashley notice Lon.

“Maybe…” She was struggling for words, looking at Lon. “Maybe…”

“Sergeant Lon?” Eddie offered.

 _“Yes_ , Sergeant Lon! Maybe you and your troops would be kind enough to accompany us to Darwin this noon? I know it’s not part of the job, but I have a shipment of cattle arriving today and I would feel much safer in your presence.”

Lon nodded. He knew he had no right to be, but he was insulted nevertheless by the fact that she didn’t remember his name. And why would she? He was just another face in an ever growing mob. Still, it hurt.

“Good. Thank you. We’re leaving in half an hour.” And she left.

Before leaving, too, Eddie clutched Lon’s still-sore shoulder. “They tripled the amount. Half our workers are leaving.”

 **\----------------------**  
**22**    
**\----------------------**

On their way off the farm, driving after the lady’s car in their military jeep, Lon could see people packing already. He searched for the drover, but the man wasn’t there. Knowing he was upset made Lon wish he could stay and look after the man. In the past, the other man had only seen Lon messing up. Now, for a change, Lon could have been the one to help him. He desperately wanted that…

 _Suck up!_ a part of him mocked. Like Benjamin would actually let him help… Like Lon could possibly help someone like Benjamin…

Maybe going to Darwin was for the best.

 **\----------------------**  
**23**    
**\----------------------**

Sarah and her entourage were making their way down the wharf, while cattlemen, pearlers, stevedores, and soldiers from the 33rd Pursuit Squadron—familiar faces Lon couldn’t tag with names—leered and whistled at her. He felt like stepping in, but knew he couldn’t.

Eddie had told him this was exactly how one man ended up with a broken nose and ribs last week.

“Shouldn’t your alpha drover be here?” Lon couldn’t help but ask.

Eddie gave him a strange look that made Lon wish he’d never opened his mouth. “It’s a small shipment,” the farmer finally said. “We don’t need him here.”

Little did the farmer know, but that was exactly what Baron Fletcher was counting on.

 **\----------------------**  
**24**    
**\----------------------**

Neil Fletcher stood not far from there, over by the already branded cattle.  _702 S.A._ read the closest bull.

 _Hullo!_  he thought as Lady Sarah signed the deed and Baron Flynn tucked it away.

Now all he had to do was wait… He puffed on his cigar to keep the flame alive and waited… The road was clear. A van dragging a fishing boat passed. The cattlemen were practically sleeping on their horses now that the damn Mister Walters-Graham wasn’t around.

A white man crossed the road with his girlfriend, and that was no good, but  _there—_

A small group of aboriginals had begun crossing the street—right by The Northern Hotel. He knew them—the older man was a fishmonger.

This couldn’t be good for tourism, but he only had one shot at this…

He gave it a burl.

 **\----------------------**  
**25**    
**\----------------------**

Lon was waiting in the jeep, quite bored. His soldiers were talking about their families and Christmas dinners, a conversation Lon just wasn’t up to.

“I heard that because it’s so hot down here, they serve the turkey and ham cold.”

“That sounds nasty!”

“Then you try standing by an oven right now!”

“They could barbecue the food.”

“Maybe they do. Do you think they’ll serve prawns?”

“Seafood? On Christmas Day?”

“What? I love prawns—”

“What was that?!”

The awful shriek wasn’t human. Nor was it far.

 

_Thud-thud…_

 

They recognized the sound by now…

 

_Thud-thud-THUD-thud…_

_Thud… thud…thud-thud-thud._

This time, the scream was distinctly feminine. It was Lady Sarah shouting, “Look out!!!”

 

_Thud-thud-thud-thud…Thud—thud—thud._

_THUD-THUD-THUD…thud-thud…thud._

 

The jeep was parked on the sidewalk by the Darwin General Mercantile and Hardware store. Dust was rising up on the road. A small group was crossing toward The Territory Hotel, but they stopped once they’d heard the lady shout

_“Stampede!!!”_

The group fled, running back toward The Northern Hotel. No one saw the little boy.

“Sir?!”

_Thud… thud…thud-thud-thud._

_Thud-thud-THUD-thud…_

 

The first shorthorns could be seen, emerging from the clouds of dust like phantoms… and Lon was running as fast as his legs could carry him, toward the shocked boy who was stuck in the middle of the road like a deer in the headlights.

Lon grabbed him, and then he realized just how close the cattle really were. He remembered seeing the gleam in the animals’ eyes—they were that close. He tried leaping to the sidewalk, but seeing he couldn’t make it—he pushed the boy away, into safety. Lon fell flat on the road, somehow avoiding the first two cows, but the third—

The pain was immediate, fiery, and immense. He felt the flesh of his shank tearing, and time stood still. He could hear hoofs hitting asphalt… could hear the lady scream… maybe he could see the sidewalk—the drainage canal was at his eye level then, but he wasn’t sure. There was nothing but the paralyzing pain in his leg.

 

 

 **\----------------------**  
**26**   
**\----------------------**

“Help! Help!!” Lady Sarah shouted, panicked. “We need to get him to a doctor!”

“I’m afraid the doctor is busy,” Baron Flynn said, never looking her way.

“Busy?! He’s losing blood! Where’s the doctor?”

“Busy.”

“Just tell me where is he!” she demanded. “This is madness; he will die!”

But the baron didn’t answer.

 _“Where?!”_  She turned to the crowd of people around her, but with one warning gaze, the baron assured their silence.

“You… I recognize your faces! You come to my ranch to eat and dance every night—will you not help me?” She was blinking fast, tears blurring her vision.

But the townies were not looking at her. Some were ducking their heads; the rest were staring at the baron.

“Does it mean nothing to you?” She turned to face the round, short man. “Do you want my cattle bad enough to punish an innocent man? Are you completely blinded by your greed?”

But he said nothing, and Sarah cried helplessly. “Just tell me where… just… where…” She wept.

“My lady…” Eddie took her by the arm and guided her to the car.

“He will DIE!” she cried in guilt and despair.

“I sent him back to the ranch with his men; if they get there in time, then our doctor could—”

“And if not? I’m putting an end to this, Eddie—no more!”

“My lady… let’s just get you home.” He led her to the car. “And just who are you?”

A little aboriginal boy was standing in front of their car, waiting.

 

 

 **\----------------------**  
**27**   
**\----------------------**

Lon thought he was dying; the pain was killing him. He didn’t know what to focus on—he tried looking at the far-off mountains… tried following the acacia shrubs with his eyes—but every bump in the road brought him back to the present, to the wetness of his soaked and torn pants, to the feeling of blood freely spouting out of his body, and to the unbearable agony.

The ride took forever. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the last Christmas dinner he’d had. Who was it with? He couldn’t remember. His parents? The squadron? Allie?

Automatically, he reached for his pocket. His eyes flew open. “I’ve lost it!”

“Sir?”

“I lost her ring! We have to turn around!” Lon was trying to sit up straight. The pain was immediate, and blood gushed from the wound fiercely.

“No sir, we can’t,” Thomas replied.

Lon made the mistake of looking down.

The floor of the jeep was covered in blood. His blood. The ride came to a stop, but Lon barely noticed it. He felt like he might throw up.

His soldiers jumped out of the jeep and called  _“HELP! HELP!!”_

Lon wasn’t seeing or hearing much of anything until he heard  _him…_

The door was thrown open. The man looked at the pool of blood on the floor, then at Lon’s face. “You! Corporal!! Go get the doctor from the homestead.  _Go!_ _”_

_No, anyone but him!_

“What happened?!” Benjamin demanded urgently, shrugging off his droving jacket and dropping it to the ground.

Was the man asking him? Lon tried moving his tongue, but he couldn’t quite get it to work…

“A stampede,” Thomas replied.

 _Ha!_  So the man wasn’t talking to him! Lon found it very funny and laughed. Or at least he tried to—it came off as a gasp.

“Easy, Oklahoma.” The drover bent into the jeep, his arms creeping like vines around Lon’s back and under his legs.

Lon laughed—well, gasped, really—again. He was feeling light-headed.

“Our own cattle?”

“Mmm?” Lon asked. The man was pulling him out of the jeep.

“Yes, I believe it was,” Thomas said in some far-off land.

The drover didn’t pick Lon up like he did his sacks of mulch, but rather like he’d carry a bride.

Like Lon should have carried Allie, but he and Allie never made it to their wedding night. What a funny thing to think of when a burly cowboy carried him while he was soaked in blood! But Lon was too tired to laugh then. He rested against the man, hating it when he was lowered to the ground and laid on Benjamin’s jacket.

At least it was warm and smelled of the man. Sweat and leather and dust and tobacco. He liked it. He liked him. And he was so cold.

Benjamin was pulling at his torn pants, exposing the wound.

_“WHY DIDN’T ANY OF YOU IDIOTS USE A TOURNIQUET ON HIM?!”_

It made Lon flinch. He’d never heard the man this angry before, and Benjamin got angry on a daily basis… usually, thanks to Yuen Po.

“We… I… we didn’t know…”

Earlier that day, Lon wanted to take care of the upset drover, and now, here he was, the one making him angry.

“Don’t be mad,” he told Benjamin, surprised that he had found his voice.

The man looked down at him, confused. But the look on his face hardened within seconds. “Don’t move, Oklahoma,” the drover said in an unambiguous manner as he pulled out a jackknife.

“Okay, Australia.” It made the man shoot him another weird look before he moved away.

_Don’t go!_

Benjamin started cutting a long stripe out of Lon’s Dacron Army pants.

_AHH!”_

The man was using a stick to tighten a knot around Lon’s leg, above the wound, and it hurt like a bitch. It also slowed the blood flow. 

“Now we wait.” Benjamin kneeled beside him, pressing one hand to Lon’s shoulder soothingly.

Lon felt like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away.

“Third time’s a charm?”

“What?”

“…I don’t know.” His thoughts were random and short-lived. He couldn’t remember why he’d said that. “I must get back to Darwin. I lost her ring—maybe it fell into the drainage canal where the cows—I mean shorthorns—were running…”

“I’m sure she’ll understand, Casanova,” the drover said, putting more weight against Lon’s shoulder as if warning him not to even think of getting up.

“You’re heavy.” Lon meant to say ‎‎ _“your hand,”_  but he was slurring. He was thinking of his unrealized wedding night again.

“I’m sure a brave soldier such as yourself can take it,” Benjamin said without looking down, his eyes searching the homestead.

 _“_ _Casanova_ … She called me that the first time I asked her out.”

“When was that?” the drover asked, again, without looking at him.

“In the hospital, after the accident. Took me  _weeks_  to ask her.”

“Accident?”

“Yeah. That’s why I never got my wings—and it wasn’t during a battle. I wasn’t even on duty when our jeep crashed. Nothing my parents could be proud of.” Lon wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to tell that to anyone Down Under. But he guessed he just did.

“You want us to inform your parents you were injured?”

“No, no! They’re busy!”

“Too busy to—”

“Yes, very busy!” The numbness was beginning to fade; the pain was becoming real and substantial again. Lon began panting. Perspiration covered his pale face. “They run a big law firm in North Carolina.”

“So you don’t see much of them?” the drover asked, finally meeting his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Of course I do!” His leg pulsed with pain. “They come to visit me as often as they can.”

“Hey!” Benjamin called, rising to his feet. “Over here!”

Lon heard foot steps, but his head was too heavy, and all he could look at was the sky.

“How is he?” an older-sounding man asked.

“Off his face. He lost a lot of blood.”

“Let me see.”

The doctor was moving his injured leg and Lon gasped in pain.

Benjamin knelt beside him again. “So how did it go?”

 _“What?”_  Lon asked breathlessly.

“With the girl from the hospital?”

“Ahhh!!…” Lon panted heavily. Damn, it hurt. Benjamin was still waiting for an answer. Feeling like a little kid at the hospital who was being distracted with lollipops, Lon answered: “It went well. Until she broke our engagement for some other guy.”

“…I’m sorry to hear that, mate.”

A rustle came from the doctor’s direction, and a bottle was uncapped. “Hold him down.”

Benjamin nodded then turned to Lon, covering the sergeant’s mouth with his palm. His blue eyes grew wide and Lon shook his head, moaning against Benjamin’s hand in protest. Ignoring him, Benjamin waited until his head fell back to the ground.

There was an apology in the drover’s brown eyes and fear in the sergeant’s blue ones as the doctor used his free hand to grasp Lon’s two slender wrists and press them to Lon’s chest.

Benjamin then shifted his weight to press against the young man’s chest and mouth, until he was covering Lon’s body, efficiently restraining him.

Lon heard the gurgle of a liquid, then his world exploded with pain—it felt like his leg was set on fire. He tried arching from the ground but couldn’t, and even with his mouth gagged, he screamed until his throat was sore.

“Shhh… Hush. It’s done, darling. It’s over.”

That was the last thing Lon heard before everything turned dark.

 **\----------------------**  
**28**   
**\----------------------**

“They were just ignoring me, like I wasn’t there. He was bleeding to death, and no one dared telling me where the doctor was. I almost got him killed.”

“You can look at it that way, or you can tell yourself that by bringing him along, you saved Nullah’s life.”

Eddie and Sarah were making their way to the southern cowshed, where the new arrivals were kept.

“Where is he?”

“Nullah? With Bandy Legs in the courtyard, making Christmas decorations.”

The sun was beginning to set, coloring their world in hues of orange. They walked in silence for a while.

“Eddie? Do you have any idea what happened out there today? One moment our herd was peaceful and calm; the other, as mad as a cut snake…”

“I think that’s why Benjamin had called us here,” the farmer said, opening the wooden door for her.

The drover was waiting by one of the bulls. He tipped his hat, greeting them as they entered.

“What did you learn?”

“That you were right. They started fleeing for a reason.” He gestured at the animal’s rear.

Below the serial number 702 was a fresh, round burn.

Sarah gasped, covering her mouth with her palms. “But why?” she asked, incredulous.

“The same reason they wouldn’t let you see a doctor?” Eddie offered.

“I’m not staying here!”

“My lady—”

“No! How long until someone else gets hurt because of me? How long until the next stampede? Until the rest of my workers leave me? I am not staying here!”

“Then we will help you drive the herd,” Benjamin offered, before Eddie could protest once more.

“Thank you.”

“At least wait another week? Until after the holiday? This place—it’s my home.  _Their_  home. And Nullah and Bandy Legs…”

“Two weeks. We will leave in two weeks.”

“My lady.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

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**29**   
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His sleep was disturbed by pain. Stuck somewhere between the present and la-la land, Lon tried to remember what happened.  _Spiders!_  was the first thing to come to mind. Had he been bitten by any?

His leg pulsed with pain.

 _Thud-thud… thud-thud…_ The beating of his heart and the pulse in his leg… It all came back to him. The stampede, the little boy, the ride home, the drover…

Lon opened his eyes. He was in a real room. In a real bed. He was covered and didn’t have to look to know his right leg was tightly wrapped with bandages. He was reminded of waking up in a military hospital almost two years ago, numb. He expected to see his parents, but they weren’t there. Allie was.

“Hey.” The soft voice was sweet, but not as sweet as Allie’s. Less carefree and braggart, more cold and wise. Her waist looked tiny in her tight dress, and even perched on the side of his bed, she sat upright like a proper English lady.

“Wh—”  _Where’s Benjamin?_  Lon almost asked, still a bit woozy and slow. But he caught himself in time. What did he care anyway?

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure… What happened?”

“After you’d lost consciousness, our doctor stitched you up. He said you were lucky that the bone wasn’t crushed—it’s only a flesh wound. You lost a lot of blood, though; you need to rest. Lieutenant John was here earlier—you have the week off, for now.”

“For now?”

“It could take longer.”

“Oh.”

Silence pierced the air for a long time.

“It was a brave thing that you did today.” The lady smiled, making Lon proud and embarrassed all at once.

“Is the boy okay?”

“His name is Nullah. He’s an orphan, so in a sense you saved him twice today; we took him in.”

_ “We?” _   _The drover and her?_  Lon thought, suddenly uneasy. He realized how cold and nauseated he was.

“Good evening.” A maid carrying a tray had entered the room, and the smell of food made hunger mix with Lon’s nausea. He was thrilled to see painkillers amid the many plates and big glasses.

“You must finish drinking it all. Doctor’s orders.”

Lon nodded, and they left him alone. But it never stopped bugging him— _Who did she mean by “we”?_ _Were they together?_  And really, why did he even _—_

_ What’s this? _

“Hello?!”  Lon called. He was certain that he’d seen a tiny silhouette by his door, but now, he saw nothing. It must have been the shortage of blood.

**\----------------------**   
**30**   
**\----------------------**

** December 19th, 1941. **

Sarah had decided she would still hold her dinner parties, but she no longer allowed the locals into her ranch. The heavy gates that were forever open and welcoming were now shut—it took Eddie half a day to get the rusty hinges to budge, and only then with the help of two boys—his nephew and his new friend who carried his toolbox.

Benjamin had to admit it was a little depressing, seeing the courtyard half-empty, with tables set for one hundred people seating less than fifty. The music still played, but no one was dancing, now. It felt like the end of an era that he’d never made the most of.

That was why, after he finished his dinner, he rose and headed for the homestead.

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**31**   
**\----------------------**

 

During the first two days, Lon slept for most of the time, the painkillers making him numb. But now, with the doctor limiting the dosage, he found himself awake, bored, and sore—and the music coming from the courtyard was taunting him.

It was a nightmare. He could walk short distances—to the bathroom and back at most, or the stitches might open. So he had to stay in bed to read Australian newspapers until he was sick of learning about a war he couldn’t take part in, and then it was back to staring at the nothingness of his room.

Anything would have been better. Doing the patrols, watching Cole and Maggie dance outside, working at the cattle station…

Lon shifted his weight. He was cold, and from the top of the closet a warm wool blanket was mocking him, challenging him to get out of bed and find a way to reach it.

…

…

Okay, he was really cold now, and it wasn’t the unpleasantness of being cold so much as the pain in his leg that intensified as a result of feeling cold that bothered him. Taking a deep breath, he sat up in bed.

“What are you doing?” someone demanded.

Lon gasped, alarmed.  _“Damn it!_ Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

The drover was standing by the door in the dark hall, watching him.  _How long has he been there?_

“What are you doing?” the cocky man asked again.

Lon’s heart was beating even faster than when the man had startled him; hate, admiration, and excitement making him feel more alive than he had in days. He hadn’t seen Benjamin since the stampede, and, as was usual whenever the man was gone, a part of Lon tensed, waiting for his return.

“I’m getting a blanket.” Lon swung his legs out of bed faster than he normally would have, biting down on a painful cry.

“Get back into bed,” the man growled, already crossing the room.

A part of Lon didn’t want to comply, but the other part of him hurt like nobody’s business. He climbed back into bed—slower this time.

“Here you go.”

He didn’t expect the man to cover him, but the drover did so. The blanket was heavy on top of him, and he was feeling better already.

The drover walked to the door.

 _“Benjamin!”_  Lon wanted for him to stay so badly that the name slipped past his lips before he knew it; he was shocked to realize he’d used the man’s first name. No one dared doing that; it was always  _Mister Graham._

“Yeah, what?” the drover turned and asked. He didn’t seem to mind being addressed so informally.

Lon’s heart began beating fast again—he had no idea what to say.  _Think fast!_

“How’s the boy?” Lon finally asked, relieved at finding the right words. Yesterday, when he woke, the mystery of the tiny silhouette was solved; Lon made out the face of a little boy whom he didn’t know. The kid smiled shyly. Lon greeted him—but he bolted away.

“He’s good. He works at the cattle station now.”

Lon’s jaw dropped. “You  _did not_  make an eight-year-old work for you!”

“Me? No. He asked to work with us, so we let him carry the tools and such,” the drover said, already at the door. “Don’t look so surprised, Oklahoma, some men like working for me,” Benjamin murmured as he exited the room.

Then there was nothing but the sound of the ticking clock coming from the hall.

“…I like working for you,” Lon told no one in particular, hating, as always, to be left alone.

“Oh, and Oklahoma?”

 _Shit!_  Benjamin was back, and Lon stopped breathing—had the drover heard him?! He could feel his face heating up and swallowed thickly. “Yeah?”

“Since you’re here chucking sickies, you might want to join us on Saturday? We’re riding to Darwin to fetch supplies.”

“I’m… I don’t know…”

“You  _can_  ride a horse, right?”

 _“Yes!”_  Lon answered, enraged—nothing unusual when dealing with the brute.

“Good; I’ll see you then! We’ll save you a polite horse, one you could keep up with.”

_“Funny!”_

But he was gone, leaving Lon bemused and frazzled. On one hand, he couldn’t wait for Saturday. On the other hand… what the hell was “chucking sickies”?

**\----------------------**   
**32**   
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** December 22nd, 1941. **

As Lon learned two years ago, bedridden boredom could easily turn into hopeless depression—and this wasn’t any different. He quickly found himself counting the minutes, rereading old newspapers, and staring at the ceiling, cursing no one in particular, yet doing so with a vengeance.

“Hello, mate.” The doctor would come once a day to check on him and change the bandages. It was the most thrilling thing to have happened in hours—since the last time the boy snuck up on him and then ran away.

Lon had called him, really wanting the kid to stay… God knew he was lonely and bored enough… Eddie would visit him too, once a day, with regards from the lady, but he was always too busy to stay. And on this particular day, the old man didn’t show at all.

“Looking better, aren’t we?”

“Thanks.” He was resisting the urge to ask the doctor if he still could ride a horse in his condition, mainly because he’d already asked him that yesterday and was told that it shouldn’t be a problem, but he mustn’t ride alone.

It was Friday, and Lon couldn’t wait, but he was also nervous... What if Benjamin had forgotten? In his boredom, Lon has been thinking about the promised trip all week long. (Okay, two days—but it had felt like a week!) And this morning, having nothing better to do, he even went through his things, searching for clothes to wear for tomorrow. He didn’t bring many civilian clothes with him, and he hated how young he looked in his only pair of casual pants and shirt, but they would have to do.

The doctor left and it was back to waiting.

**\----------------------**   
**33**   
**\----------------------**

Lon couldn’t sleep. He was too excited at both the trip and at the prospect of spending time with the drover... That was where being indoors for too long had gotten him—he’d become desperate.

They were leaving at seven, but by five AM, Lon was already dressed up and waiting.

So bored… so hopelessly bored he could scream. Only the ticking of the pendulum clock in the hall was breaking the silence, at least until Lon heard footsteps outside. He got up slowly, as his leg still hurt, and opened his door—just a small crack.

Someone had stepped out of the lady’s room. Lon couldn’t see his face. The man was going down the stairs; the wait was making his imagination run wild. Could it be Baron Fletcher had come to threaten her? Who else would sneak out like this so early? Lon searched for his rifle, before remembering it was locked away.

But the man’s body was too thick to be the skinny baron, and as he stood in the hall, there was no mistaking the bullwhip and hat.

It felt like a punch to the guts.

An irrational surge of jealousy and hurt was making Lon’s insides clench… God help him, but he was blinking away tears…

He was waiting, awake, dressed up like the lifeless puppet that he was, while right above his head, the drover and the lady were…  _No!_

He couldn’t even think it.

Images of the shirtless drover flashed before him—below the navel where tight abs dipped low and body hair grew thick and the buckle of his belt shone. A little lower, a massive bulge suggested the drover was very… _capable_ … between the sheets. Had she enjoyed all that tonight?

Lon stood by the door, bitter, ashamed of his unbidden thoughts—those were not the type of things a gentleman should ever consider. He waited for the man to go away so that he could shut the door and go back to sleep—fuck the trip to Darwin!

All the Allies and Maggies in his life gave him the same heart-wrenching feeling he was suffering just then. Now he could add the Sarahsto that list. Butno, Lon grimaced; he didn’t want the lady. Why couldn’t he be happy for them? Why did he hate them both so much right now? And why wouldn’t the man leave already?

“Are you coming, Oklahoma?” the man asked, his back turned toward Lon.

_How?!_

Panicked, Lon had to remind himself that even if the drover had excellent ears, the man couldn’t possibly read his thoughts. Still, he was embarrassed and ashamed beyond the telling of it.

“Yeah,” he answered in a small voice, forcing the eleven-year-old boy inside him to shut up.

_Damn.  
_


	5. Chapter 5

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**34**   
**\----------------------**

  
He’d anticipated this trip for so long, but now that he was out, it was a nightmare. He felt like a stupid little boy in his civilian clothes, surrounded by cattlemen in their ragged riding pants and driving jackets.   
  
There were five of them, two of which seemed closer to the drover than the rest; every once in a while, Benjamin would slow down the cattlemen so that Lon could keep up. It made him feel awful.   
  
When the crew waited by General Mercantile and Hardware for Benjamin and the two other drovers who seemed to be his friends, Lon stayed with the remaining cattlemen in uncomfortable silence, wishing he’d never come.   
  
Now, riding back, he tried telling himself to enjoy the view, the fresh—if hot—air. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off Benjamin’s back.   
  
Hate and jealousy and admiration and sadness and fascination and hurt and awe.   
  
_Please let this trip end already!_  

 

**\----------------------**  
**35**   
**\----------------------**

 

When his wish was granted and they were back at the ranch, Lon found he faced a different problem entirely: He couldn’t dismount from the horse. Mounting it was easy—he placed his left foot in the stirrup and lifted himself up. Going down, however, meant either putting weight upon or landing on his right leg. It was a lousy dilemma—either way, pain was guaranteed.   
  
Certain that there was no way he’d survive sticking his right foot in the stirrup, he made hooked it with his left, bracing himself for the pain of landing on his injured leg.   
  
“Let me,” the familiar, deep voice rasped. Lon’s waist was seized forcefully. He was then slowly lowered to the ground, as if he were nothing but a paper doll in the drover’s hands.   
  
“Thanks,” Lon said, unable to meet his eyes, still feeling the drover’s hold on his waist long after he’d been released. For the first time that day, they were alone; it made Lon wonder why the drover had invited him to begin with. He felt silly for hoping they’d spend time with only each other today.   
  
“Don’t mention it,” Benjamin said, waiting for Lon to look up.   
  
_Maybe now he’d explain?  
_  
The cattleman took a step forward and his hand closed over Lon’s shoulder. It made the young soldier’s pulse race. His regrets concerning the trip faded away.   
  
“Listen, I’m not very—” Benjamin began.   
  
_“POSTAL DELIVERY! COME GET YOUR POST!!”_  
  
A call from the inner courtyard came, making the two men turn their heads. When Lon turned back, Benjamin was his own aloof and mysterious self once more.   
  
“Go.”   
  
Lon’s shoulder was released and he was dismissed, much to his disappointment. 

 **\----------------------**  
**36**   
**\----------------------**

  
  
Two officers were standing there; Lieutenant John and a mustached captain whom Lon didn’t know. The back of their jeep was laden with packages.   
  
_Christmas. Of course.  
_  
His soldiers, who’d noticed his arrival, waved at him. Lon smiled back. All it took for them to give up the formality and act friendly was him getting injured? Or maybe it was his casual clothes that invited familiarity?   
  
“Callis!” the captain called as the lieutenant handed him a package from the back. A young private stepped up to the jeep.   
  
“Happy holidays, Callis.” The captain gave him his mail.   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
John took another package from the pile and handed it to the captain.   
  
“Clifford!”   
  
Arnold, who had been standing with Lon’s two other soldiers, stepped up to the jeep. Cole and Thomas signalled Lon to come over, and he took his place beside them. From there, he could see a note on the package saying  _“Happy holiday, Arnold.”_    
  
Maggie stood in a row with Eddie, Daisy, and Lady Sarah Ashley, who was far too close to Benjamin.   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
The same pang of jealousy brought nothing but sadness now. His anger was gone, and frankly, Lon missed it.   
  
“Doherty!”   
  
It was much better than agony.   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
But why? Just…  _why?_  He didn’t even want her!   
  
Perhaps she was somehow stirring up his feelings for Allie—whose ring he’d lost—and who was now somewhere in North Carolina, close to Noah in the same way the lady was to the drover?   
  
…Something about the equation felt wrong, but Lon couldn’t put his finger on it.   
  
He realized he was staring and tore his eyes away, searching for the little boy instead. Only Bandy Legs stood there, by his uncle. No sign of the boy Lon had rescued but still hadn’t met.   
  
“Dorsey!”   
  
Cole went to take his mail; Lon didn’t miss how happy Maggie was for him.   
  
“Happy holidays, Dorsey.”   
  
That’s all Lon wanted.   
  
“Happy holiday, sir!”   
  
For someone to truly care.   
  
“Habberstad!”   
  
The sergeant who stepped forward took his package and tore it open right there, pulling out a framed picture.   
  
The young commander was surrounded by his soldiers within seconds. “Is this the baby?” Lon could hear one of them ask while patting the sergeant’s back fondly.   
  
Lon wondered whether he would have been a father by now if things had been different between Allie and him.   
  
Wait, if  _Habberstad_  was up, then  _Hammond_  was next…   
  
“Happy holidays, Habberstad.”   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
_My turn?_  Lon suddenly felt uneasy in his civilian clothes.   
  
“Hart!”   
  
_…What?_    
  
Thomas stepped up to the jeep.   
  
“Happy holidays, Hart.”   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
_…Okay, that doesn’t necessary mean anything…_    
  
Maybe they weren’t doing it in an alphabetical order after all?   
  
“Jacobson!”   
  
And then again, maybe they were.   
  
Thomas was back, glowing happily, holding his package as if it might run away.   
  
“Happy holidays, Jacobson.”   
  
Could it be? Were his parents truly that angry? After all this time?   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
“Moore!”   
  
Lon felt sick. His leg was troubling him again—or maybe he’d just noticed that it hurt then, and though the day was cloudy—it was unpleasantly hot.   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
He wished to get inside, but couldn’t just yet without drawing unwanted attention. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt as if everyone’s eyes were on him, pitying the sergeant who had been skipped.   
  
“Nicoli!”   
  
_They don’t even know your last name!_  Lon tried telling himself, but he just couldn’t lift his eyes from the ground.   
  
_“Happy holidays, sir!”_    
  
He just knew that if he lifted his gaze, he’d find the drover watching him with those intent brown eyes...   
  
_Third time’s a charm!_  He got it now! Heh.   
  
“White!”   
  
The man sure came through for him. Over and over again.   
  
“Happy holidays, sir!”   
  
His parents, on the other hand…   
  
“And Wilson!”   
  
There. It was done. Thirty soldiers got their Christmas gift baskets, and now they were all too busy to notice that he was leaving.   
  
But he didn’t go to the homestead. He went to his barn.

 **\----------------------**  
**37**   
**\---------------------**

  
All along, Lon heard footsteps behind him and felt eyes on his back. When he finally made it to the barn door, Benjamin spoke up:   
  
“You’re not really in touch with your parents, are you?”   
  
_Stubborn son of a bitch!_  What did he care? What did he care, now that he had his lady? Still, Lon couldn’t send him away. He stood by the door, keeping his back toward the man, hesitating.   
  
“…Oklahoma?”   
  
He turned. “My parents… Mister Hammond, Sr… their firm… Those are big names back home. Allie’s parents too— rich plantation owners… Our wedding was supposed to be the local society’s event of the year—people wanted to score an invitation just to know they’re on our parents’ good side, you know?”   
  
“But then it got cancelled?”   
  
“But then it got cancelled. I was working in the family business back then, running the Tennessee offices before starting law school that summer, but with the wedding cancelled…”   
  
_“I had a talk with Brigadier Dent.”_  
  
_“The brigadier general?”_  
  
_“Yes. He is willing to have you back.”_  
  
_“Whoa—what? What do you mean ‘back’? Back where?”_  
  
_“Your mother and I thought you were ready for university—”_  
  
_“No!”_  
  
_“But apparently we were wrong.”_  
  
_“No, Dad! Just let me—”_  
  
_“What, Lon? Prove yourself? You couldn’t hold onto your wife; how do you expect us to trust you with our firm?”_  
  
_“No… Allie was still in love with—”_  
  
_“The little miss left you for someone who’d made sure she’d stay—something you were apparently incapable of.”_  
  
_“How can you say that?”_  
  
_“This is not a discussion, Lon! The brigadier was kind enough to have you back after your last miserable mishap; you should be nothing but grateful! You got that, boy?”_  
  
_“…Yes, sir.”_  
  
“They just figured this situation would be for the best.” Lon opened the door, realizing he’d just shared with the drover another piece of information he’d intended to take to his grave.   
  
“I… I should…” But there was no ending to that sentence. Nothing was waiting for Lon Down Under. No reason for him to excuse himself or his self-pity, and tears blurred his vision.   
  
Being a gentleman for once, the drover took his cue and nodded then left.   
  
Lying on his back on top of his improvised bed of hay, Lon didn’t sob. Tears slipped from his eyes nevertheless, soon drying in salty trails along his cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

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**38**   
**\----------------------**

For the rest of the day, they had let him be.

Now, Eddie had come with dinner and fresh bedding. Lon climbed down from the bales of hay.

Eddie smiled, understanding. “The roof is leaking?”

Lon nodded with a grimace. “Will it rain tonight?”

“Abso-bloody-lutely! Gonna rain for days now, you mark my words.”

“Consider them marked.” Lon set the tray on the small table by the bed. He’d take Eddie’s word over the newspapers’ any day.

“Gonna start any tic of the clock, as a matter of fact, and before it does—” Eddie said as he went to open the door.

“What are you doing?”

_Oh…_

A young boy was standing there. His dark hair was long; his smile was shy, but his eyes were saucy and alert.

“Hello?” Lon greeted with an undeniable question in his voice.

“Sergeant Lon Hammond Jr.—this is Nullah.”

“Hello!” the boy greeted and walked in, carrying a big box. “Come on!” he called, looking back outside.

Bandy Legs hesitantly entered the barn, hiding behind his uncle.

“The boys have something for you... Go on! Don’t just stand there!” Eddie encouraged.

Bandy Legs stepped from behind him.

“We made it ourselves!” Nullah said with a proud smile, exposing missing baby teeth as he handed Lon the package.

“For me? ...Thank you!” Lon’s blue eyes flickered from one boy to the other, embarrassed and touched all at once. “Should I open it now?”

Bandy Legs found his courage:  _“Yes!”_

“Okay…” Lon carefully tried to remove the ribbons.

“No, no—you have to rip it!”

Laughing a little (something he realized he hadn’t done in a very long time), Lon tore at the ribbons and opened the box.

“You like them? We made them!”

_ “Wow…” _  Lon pulled out a handful of Christmas decorations; the boys had made him little cows with bells around their necks. One of the cows had his sergeant insignia on its shoulders, thanks to three painted sticks that served as his chevrons. They’d also made a decoration that looked like the homestead in miniature, right down to a tiny weather vane…

“You guys are amazing!” Lon had no words to express his surprise and gratitude.

“Keep going!”

Smiling, Lon pulled a folded sheet of paper out of the box.

“That is from me!” Nullah said proudly.

Lon unfolded the paper.

“I drew the words—Uncle Eddie showed me how. He’s gonna teach me to read and write!”

With many colorful crayons, the boy had painted “Darwin.” An arrow pointing at a big house was explaining in a childish handwriting: “The Northern Hotel.” And a different arrow was pointing at “The Territory Hotel.” Between the two of them was a big messy scrabble of yellow and brown. “Stampede” was written in red above it. At the right corner of the paper stood two smiling figures: a little boy and an American sergeant— with the words “”Me” and “Lon.”

Lon, in a cynical mood before, might have called it cliché, if it weren’t for the anxious, earnest little boy now standing before him.

“So, do you like it?”

“I love it! This looks just like me!” The stick figure had blue eyes and three chevrons on its sleeve. “Is that why you came to my room all the time? To see my eyes? You could have entered.”

“And ruin the surprise?!” Nullah made a face.

“True.” Lon laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Well, I love it! This is just perfect—thank you, guys!”

“There’s a fruit cake inside too, but we didn’t make it! Aunt Daisy did!”

“Well, I’ll thank her for the cake when I see her.”

“So, you’re no longer sad?” they asked in unison.

“Sad…? No, I’m happy.”

“Good!” Nullah said, glowing. A second later, he turned his back on Lon and ran out of the barn; seeing him do so, Bandy Legs did the same.

 _Sad?_   _Why would they ask that? Unless…_

_No!!_

His good mood was gone and his eyes darted up to meet Eddie’s. “Did  _he_  put them up to this?”

“Lon…”

“Did he?!”

Eddie was quiet, and it was all the answer Lon needed.

 _“Great!_  Who else did he talk to? Who else pities me now?!” Lon bitterly spat, cramming his gifts back into the box.

“ _You ungrateful drongo!”_ Eddie snapped, “The boys were working all week long on your gift! They wanted to give it to you on Christmas day. Maybe Mister Graham urged them to give it to you today, maybe he didn’t—I honestly don’t know!” The old man got up and made it to the door, but then he turned back. “And say that he did? What then? You think you’re so smart—pining for ghosts and worshiping lost rings? I’m jack of it, mate!”

And with that, Eddie left angrily, forgetting his trademark floppy sunhat in the barn. Not that he needed it. Some minutes later, thunder roared and it began to pour.

**\----------------------**   
**39**   
**\----------------------**

 

** December 25th, 1941. **

Eddie was right. It didn’t stop raining for days. Lon suspected Eddie was right about him, as well, but he wasn’t sure how.

He could hear people bustling outside, making their way to the main dining room, where Christmas dinner was held because of the downpour.

His commanding officer gave him another week off, but even as bored as he was, Lon wasn’t sure he wanted to join the rest of the folks for the holiday meal. He didn’t feel like seeing Eddie right now, nor Cole or Maggie or Lieutenant John—and above all, he didn’t want to see Benjamin and Sarah together.

Sitting on a bale of hay without Allie’s ring to divert him, Lon’s eyes kept drifting to the closed package. He promised himself he’d hang the handmade decorations in the barn, in case one of the kids showed up, but couldn’t bring himself to open the box. It felt too close to home, in a way. He’d closed the lid on many unpleasant things that day.

Ungrateful drongo, indeed.

Whatever drongo meant.

_Knock-knock_ _. _

__ “Sir?” Thomas had come to his door. “Sir, are you coming?”

_ “No…” _  Lon muttered quietly. From the bedside table, Eddie’s hat was glaring at him. Lon was beginning to suspect that the old man left it behind on purpose to chastise him. It was all very silly, of course.

“Sir?”

“Yes, I’m coming!” Lon called back, glaring at the sunhat.  _But I’m only going to honor the lady!_

**\----------------------**   
**40**   
**\----------------------**

The first guests were beginning to arrive in the main dining room, which was big enough to accommodate all of the remaining workers and American soldiers who were staying at the ranch.

Benjamin showed up early to help. It wasn’t much like him, but neither was staying in one place for as long as he did. Something about Lady Sarah Ashley was stirring… well,  _tenderness_ within him. It was supposed to be just another job, a quick quid on his way to buying a ranch of his own. After two months at the cattle station, he realized he couldn’t leave until he was certain the lady and her property were safe. It was another setback, but he couldn’t help it. Not with Sarah.

He remembered waiting for her in Darwin the first time they’d met. She emerged from the clouds of dust in a ridiculously elegant and pricey dress, shooing black flies with a slender gloved hand while trying to read the address—he’d never seen a woman so obviously lost.

Dressed too hot for the climate, too fancy for the scenery, and too tightly for the crowd of local men, the lady seemed scared out of her wits by the leering pearlers and fishmongers who surrounded her like a pack of wolves.

 _”What can we do for you?”_ a fisho practically asked the lady’s breasts, making her gasp in alarm.

Benjamin groaned and stepped forward, knowing it was too late—Sarah Ashley had him, hook, line, and sinker. He always had a weakness for ladies, even if it wasn’t in the conventional way. He couldn’t stand it when men took advantage of them, and if the stories about Baron Fletcher were true, then the lady had his services for as long as she needed them.

 _“Nothing. She’s with me,”_ he growled, and the men surrounding the lady took a couple of steps backward.

 _“I didn’t know that, mate. I’m easy!”_  the fisho said with his hands up in the air and a slobbery smile on his face…

“Benjamin?” Sarah halted his reminiscence, pressing a petit hand to his muscular arm. “Have a seat?”

“Thank you.” The drover stepped out of her reach and moved to the head of the table, taking his seat—which was beside her empty chair. He didn’t have to turn to know she was disappointed.

The look on Eddie’s face, who sat on her other side, was telling him all he needed to know. The shrewd farmer was seeing right through their little drama, which had started a couple of weeks ago—but that didn’t mean Benjamin had to acknowledge it.

Sarah took her place between them, avoiding Benjamin’s gaze. The guests took their cue and sat, as well.

“Welcome,” the lady started, holding up her glass. Everyone else followed suit. “I’m very happy to have you all here.”

Both Eddie and the drover were searching the crowd for the same person now, but he wasn’t there, which brought Benjamin to remember his second weakness: the pretty, naïve, and earnest American boy.

He knew Eddie wasn’t talking to Oklahoma for some reason, and being unable to fetch him from the barn was eating the farmer up—he was playing with his napkin nervously, his eyes fixated at the door. The two boys who sat beside him were already chewing food, sneaking it into their mouths without him noticing.

“I want to wish you and your families happy holidays…”

Benjamin followed Eddie’s gaze to the three young soldiers who sat together, talking among themselves. Sensing their meaning, the red-headed private got up and made it to the door.

He was a good kid. A silly one, too, letting his commander nearly bleed to death. But then again, he was just a kid. They all were—no matter what rank had been slapped on their shoulders.

The relief on Eddie’s face was visible.

“I couldn’t possibly picture better people to dine with tonight,” Sarah continued, and Benjamin felt her eyes flickering over him, but by the time he looked up to meet her gaze, she was addressing the crowd once more.

Eddie was staring at him grimly from the other side of the table.

She raised her cup, and the hall began buzzing with chatter and laughter.

“Cheers!” They drank.

Led by Daisy, maids carrying food trays entered the dining room.

The red-head private was back, his sergeant entering the room after him…

Benjamin minded his plate to avoid staring at the beautiful boy. He smiled and thanked Daisy as she served him his food. Thunder roared outside, and it was beginning to grow dark, but inside, a tree decorated with bright lights was warming the dining room.

“I have an announcement to make,” Benjamin was surprised to hear Sarah saying. He had a feeling this wasn’t planned.

It took a while for the room to fall silent again.

“As you know, I had some legal problems with the land—problems that I couldn’t solve, and so I’m leaving next week.”

The soldiers remained quiet, but the workers were gasping and buzzing nervously.

“Those who wish to join us on our journey to a new ranch are more than welcome; those who wish to stay… I believe the baron will be happy to have your help—as well as everything else I ever had.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the hall. Only the footsteps of Oklahoma and his soldier could be heard as they drew closer, making their way to their table.

“I’m sorry for burdening you with the news now, but while I have you all here, I wanted to give you time to adjust. So… so… bon appétit,” she offered with a forced smile, tears misting her eyes.

She took her seat. Silverware began clinking from all around, slowly at first, until everyone began eating their food.

“That went pretty smoothly,” the lady said, staring at nothing in particular; she wouldn’t meet the two men’s gazes as tears fell down her cheeks.

Grim, Benjamin stared at her untouched plate, not sure what to say, and just when he was sure it couldn’t get any worse, he heard Oklahoma gasp—

_“Look out!”_

The lady turned and screamed—a big black spider was climbing the back of her chair. She dashed away in a fright, getting caught in the table cloth while doing so, which brought down her plate—spilling food all over her dress.

“My lady—it’s nothing!” Eddie tried, but the frightened woman couldn’t hear him as she moved back, nearly stumbling until Oklahoma caught her.

“It’s nothing!” Eddie said, scooping the spider in his hand. “See? It’s a white-tailed spider; they’re harmless.”

“…Harmless?” Lon asked.

“Yes.”

The hall was quiet. Gravy was dripping from the lady’s dress. Her fork fell to the floor, and the clatter echoed throughout the room.

“Oh… Oh, I see…” she said, embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” the  sergeant told her sadly. “I didn’t know—I thought it was dangerous… I nearly got bitten by one in a bog and…” His blue eyes lifted, meeting Benjamin’s, his sadness turning into anger.

“No, I know you didn’t. It’s okay... I should go change.” She walked out of the hall, her heels tapping loudly in the silence.

“Well, what are you looking at?” Eddie asked the guests. “Carry on.”   



	7. Chapter 7

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**41**   
**\----------------------**

Lon shook his head, his expression letting Thomas know he’d better not try to stop him as he turned and walked to the door. People were eating again, chatting again—but Lon couldn’t bear staying. He thought he would die of shame; his face felt like it was on fire.  _Only going to honor the lady, indeed!  
_  
Every time he left the barn, he ended up regretting it or messing up! Maybe his parents were right to send him away!   
  
He walked out the door and straight into the rain, not bothering to zigzag from one roofed veranda to another, his angry tears mingling with the harsh drops of water.   
  
And to do something so stupid before all of the guests! Before Bandy Legs and Nullah and Eddie and Maggie and…   
  
_Son of a bitch!_    
  
Letting Lon admire him, thinking that the drover had saved his life that day—yelling at him like he was a stupid little boy! But maybe he was—admiring a woman who dumped him before their wedding, an English lady who didn’t even know his name, and a drover who’d made a complete fool out of him—   
  
_“Oklahoma!”_  The call came from behind him, as loud as the screaming wind and raging rain that hit the ground and bubbled up mud all around him.   
  
In that moment—as sudden as a hit to the head—Lon’s despair turn into ugly, dark rage.  _Son of a bitch—GO AWAY! Get back to your GIRLFRIEND!!  
_  
He turned, throwing a nasty punch where he figured the man’s head would be, wishing he’d never come to Australia—and above all, wishing he’d never met the cattleman who was driving him insane. If this didn’t push Benjamin out of his life, nothing would.   
  
He didn’t miss, but the other man was faster; the drover caught Lon’s fist in his larger hand, easily blocking all of Lon’s force.   
  
Lon pulled back and tried again—aiming at the man’s stomach.   
  
This time, Benjamin caught him by the wrist. “Stop it!” he barked into Lon’s face.   
  
Despairing, Lon tried hitting the man with his free hand. “You bastard!” he cursed as the man caught his other wrist.   
  
“I’m not gonna fight you, Oklahoma—easy on!”   
  
“Why did you tell me those were deadly spiders?!”   
  
“I never told you that!”   
  
Lon paused. … _He didn’t. Oh God—he didn’t._    
  
All the drover had told him that night was that what he’d done was stupid—which was true. So he just made a fool out of himself… again.   
  
_“Let go of me!”_  Lon cried, pulling back with all his weight, wanting to shut himself in the barn, where he couldn’t mess up anymore.   
  
Benjamin grunted, stumbling forward but quickly balancing himself, never letting go of Lon’s wrists.   
  
_“Let me go! Let me—go! Let go! Just… let go…”_  Lon was struggling and pulling and tugging, and the man wasn’t giving up. The two of them nearly stumbled into the mud more than once. No matter how hard Lon tried, the drover was stronger.   
  
“Let go…” he finally whispered, panting, his voice barely audible. Why must the drover torture him? Why couldn’t he just let him be? He stopped struggling and the man pulled him closer.   
  
“No,” Benjamin simply said.   
  
Still panting, Lon looked up into his eyes. The rain was hitting their faces, and the wind whistled loudly. Their ragged breaths came out in white puffs.   
  
“No.” Benjamin repeated, and Lon’s eyes followed the white puff of breath from the man’s lips. They looked soft against his bristly stubble.   
  
“I’m not letting go.” Benjamin lowered his gaze slowly to Lon’s mouth. They stood, panting in the storm for a moment longer, until the drover used his hold on Lon to yank him closer—   
  
Even in the storm, the sound of their mouths crushing together was jarring—their teeth knocking, the wet sucking noises—the noisy, messy, glorious French kiss they dove into.   


  
Seconds later, Lon moaned into the man’s mouth out of shock and protest; but, as his wrists were released, he did nothing. Benjamin’s arms came around him, circling his waist, and Lon tangled his fingers into the man’s hair.   
  
For the first time in over a year, behind Lon’s closed lids, the world made perfect sense. 

 **\----------------------**  
**42**   
**\----------------------**

  
Back in the barn, Benjamin shut the door and removed his wet hat, surprised to find Eddie’s old sunhat on the bedside table.   
  
“It’s a long story,” Oklahoma said.   
  
“Is it?” The drover replaced Eddie’s floppy sunhat on the table with his own Australian Akubra hat, and then he opened the barn door, hanging the farmer’s hat on the outside handle.   
  
When he closed the door, he could see the first glint of fear in Lon’s baby blues.   
  
So, he moved slowly—resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders and holding his gaze squarely, before dropping his eyes to Lon’s full lips. The kid’s throat worked as he gulped nervously, but he didn’t pull back…   
  
Benjamin moved in, pressing their lips together, waiting for the kid to relax before opening his mouth to trace Lon’s lips with his tongue.   
  
He repeated the motions until Oklahoma parted his lips, and even then, Benjamin pressed into Lon’s mouth slowly, allowing the boy to get used to the idea—until the shy caresses stopped, and Lon started sucking eagerly on his tongue.   
  
_Oh yeah._  He waited so long to kiss the boy like that, he wanted Oklahoma at first sight—the kid had no idea just how delicious he looked in uniform... Or how delicious he looked when he was pissed off, his blue eyes flared and his jaw clenched shut. So Benjamin had made a point of pissing him off, at least until the kid got injured and blurted out truths that stirred the same damn tenderness in him that, until then, was reserved only for Sarah.   
  
Never breaking the kiss, Benjamin unbuttoned the sergeant’s wet shirt, and then pushed it over his slender shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.   
  
The wiry body was cold under his caressing hands. Wanting to get rid of the wet pants as well, he reached for Lon’s fly.   
  
Lon tore his mouth away and gasped.   
  
There were times when Benjamin doubted that he could have the boy—he saw Lon hitting on a local girl, and he knew Lon was engaged once—but other times, when they worked in the fields, and he felt Oklahoma’s eyes on him… he thought all the kid needed was a push and some guidance. 

 **\----------------------**  
**43**   
**\----------------------**

“You’ve never been with a man.”   
  
The drover was stating the obvious, and Lon shook his head. It was all too surreal—he had no idea what he was doing, only that stopping would mean losing Benjamin and he couldn’t have that. The words left his mouth before he knew it; “Not unless you take into consideration the…”   
  
_Damn!  
_  
“…The what?”   
  
Lon bit his tongue. He didn’t want to talk about it, but it was too late. “The time I spent in military boarding school… You know what they’re like.”   
  
“No, I don’t,” the man huffed. “What are they like?”   
  
“All of the young soldiers had to do it… It was an initiation thing. It wasn’t a big deal.”   
  
“Had to do what?” Benjamin encouraged, caressing his cheek.   
  
It made his lips and tongue tingle—just like the first time the man touched him. This was insane, yet Benjamin stood there, waiting.   
  
“Just to allow the veterans to do… We just had to keep our knees together and wait.” Lon could feel himself blushing, but he needed to make it clear: “You didn’t even have to take off all your clothes, only your pants.”   
  
God, he was feeling like such an idiot! Why did he have to share yet another demeaning piece of information with the drover? He couldn’t meet the man’s eyes, but Benjamin was pressing two fingers under his chin to lift his face.   
  
“Intercrural sex?” The brown eyes were reassuring, the deep voice was calm, and Lon’s humiliating secret wasn’t so scary anymore—the other man wasn’t mad or disgusted.   
  
“What’s that?”   
  
“Between the thighs?”   
  
Lon shivered at the memories, but forced himself to nod. Needing to feel less of a freak he added: “But, you know—it’s not a big deal. All the older soldiers do it to the younger soldiers—that’s just the way it works.”   
  
“So did you do it to young soldiers as a senior?”   
  
_“NO!”_  Lon quickly said, insulted, and Benjamin gave him a long look.   
  
_Oh._    
  
“Yeah, okay,” Lon said, suddenly feeling worn out. He got the point. Still, it didn’t change what happened.   
  
“What about your girl?”   
  
_…His girl? What did she have to do with…_  Understanding, his eyes grew wide. “My intentions for Allie were pure!” Lon said, immediately defending her honor.   
  
When he came to Seabrook Island, the first thing that he noticed was that Allie no longer wore the purity ring that her mother had given her. He understood he’d lost her then, but even as brokenhearted as he was, he knew he’d defend her reputation. She may not marry a virgin, but she was the sort of girl who would sleep with no other man but her husband.   
  
Suddenly, adding one and one, Lon realized that he’d just confessed to being a virgin… and his cheeks began burning.   
  
“How old are you?” the drover asked.   
  
That question wasn’t helping.   
  
Allie once told him about the first time she and Noah attempted to have sex. About how she was so scared and embarrassed, she thought she might faint. For the first time in his life, he understood.   
  
He had no idea what to say when he opened his mouth, but, taking pity on him, the drover silenced him with a kiss.   
  
He must have been crazy, allowing another man to kiss him, but his admiration for the drover knew no bounds. He moaned into the man’s mouth as Benjamin undid the pants of his uniform and dropped them to the floor. Lon couldn’t deny him even then… and his mind began racing—just how far did the man intend to take things? Surely they’ve gone far enough to—   
  
To Lon’s relief, his lips were released; but seconds later, the man latched himself to the base of Lon’s neck, sucking and biting hungrily on a sensitive spot. Lon froze.   
  
Benjamin kept going nevertheless, running his palms all over Lon’s torso. It made him shiver, but there was no denying it was getting him hard—so hard. Shame washed over him; he had to close his eyes.   
  
The drover moved his coarse hands down Lon’s body, until he reached the kid’s underpants and dragged them off.   
  
Lon squinted. The mouth was gone; the spot on his neck still felt like it was on fire.   
  
“Shouldn’t we go back? They must be wondering where— _AHHH!”_    
  
Eyes closed, nothing prepared Lon for the wet mouth that closed over his dick; he almost came. The man was insane—this was as far as he and Allie had ever gone, and they waited for months before—   
  
_“Ahh! Oh…”_    
  
_He’s better._  The thought came unbidden, but it was true. Allie’s touch was shy and inexperienced, and it had ended very fast. This man’s mouth was hot and demanding; he knew how to touch a cock… but most of all, he knew when to stop touching—making it last.   
  
Lon was hissing as the man sucked harder, and his hips began rocking back and forth in a rhythm that was driving him crazy—a little more, and he would come in Benjamin’s mouth!   
  
He wanted to tell the man to stop, that this wasn’t what he’d saved himself for, but then it occurred to him that the person he’d saved himself for had left him without thinking twice. She was nothing but a memory, while Benjamin was real and alive—kneeling before him, that hot, experienced mouth on his dick making him feel so damn good!   
  
It was that last thought, however, that made him throw caution to the wind.   
  
How deeply  _disappointed_  and  _disgusted_  his parents would be…   
  
He almost wished they could have seen him now—in Australia, like they wanted…   
  
It was very likely, though, that his father would have taken his shotgun and killed both him and his lover…   
  
Oh, fuck that, fuck all of it—he just wanted to come!   
  
He did not want, however, to have one of Benjamin’s thick fingers pressing up his ass; “No, don’t!”   
  
At first, Benjamin was only touching the sensitive skin puckered around his anus, and Lon hated to admit that he’d liked that—but then the man used slight pressure to enter his body, and that was too much… But the drover didn’t stop, and Lon didn’t want to come off as a coward—he admired the other man too much. Benjamin pressed a second finger into Lon just as easily as he had the first…   
  
Lon began… well, throbbing… inside; he throbbed all around the invasion. It scared him. He was scared of resisting, scared of moving; even his breathing turned shallow and fast.   
  
Benjamin’s mouth was still on him, the man doing nothing in particular to get him to come, while the two fingers kept wiggling inside of him, massaging the same area until…   
  
_Oh God!_    
  
His knees buckled as pleasure washed over him; but seconds later, Lon wasn’t sure he’d felt anything at all. The pleasure was so elusive; the renewed throbbing deep in his ass was the only proof it ever existed at all... He’d never been turned on like  _that_ , never in  _there_.   
  
The man repeated the action, his touch lighter this time, and  _oh…_    
  
Lon was afraid his legs would give out; he was feeling weak and out of his mind with desire.   
  
_He’s fucking you,_  a little voice warned.   
  
_Shut up!_  Lon told himself.   
  
_He’s fucking you up the ass!_  the voice insisted.   
  
Allie told him about this voice—about how it ruined her first attempt with Noah: She’d kept asking him what was he thinking of. The little voice had told her he was quiet because he didn’t care about her—that Noah would dump her if she slept with him—so she kept talking and talking until the cops whom her hysterical parents had sent ruined their plants.   
  
Lon hissed as Benjamin brought him back to the present; pressure was building in his groin—little uncontrollable thrusts brought him closer and closer to the edge.   
  
_You’re gonna come in a man’s mouth!_  the voice said, and Lon’s eyes flew open. “No, stop! Stop!!”   
  
Startled, the man pulled back.   
  
Lon bent and pulled his pants up, clumsily clutching at them to keep himself covered. “I can’t.”   
  
Benjamin stood, watching him in utter shock and disbelief.   
  
“I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”   
  
With downcast eyes, grinning bitterly, the man nodded.   
  
“I’m sorry.” Lon said again, meaning it—as the man exited the barn. 

 **\----------------------**  
**44**   
**\----------------------**

It was just a crush.   
  
Benjamin knew that.   
  
A pretty American boy. A pretty… and straight… American boy.   
  
_Damn it!  
_  
Standing in the rain did nothing to sooth the demanding throb between his legs—the taste of the boy still lingered on his tongue, and the last thing he cared about was dinner. He wasn’t going back to the farmhouse.   
  
_Oklahoma…_  Was he going too fast? He could have slowed down. He could have done nothing at all except hold the boy in his arms.   
  
…So maybe it was more than a crush. He cared. He remembered the hurt on Lon’s face when he realized his parents had sent him nothing for Christmas.   
  
Benjamin followed him around ever since then—drawn like a moth to a flame. He couldn’t stand seeing Lon sad. If he gave up now, a week from today, he’d never see Lon ever again.   
  
He turned back.   
  
Come hell or high water, he was seizing this opportunity. The kid had been hard—he’d wanted it too. In such crazy times, nothing was certain—people came and went. But Benjamin would be damned if he was going to miss out on having that gorgeous boy. 


	8. Chapter 8

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**45**   
**\----------------------**

  
Lon was staring at the hat that Benjamin left behind; He just stood there, still holding his pants up, still hard and sore. Not far from the hat was a box. “For Lon” it read in colorful crayons.   
  
Benjamin…   
  
Wasn’t that what Lon had wanted? For someone to care?   
  
He was reminded of many things, then: The man removing the spider—deadly or not—from his wrist on his first night Down Under. The man carrying him out of the jeep and stopping his bleeding when no one else could. The man visiting him—taking him out for a ride when he couldn’t even walk… helping him off the horse… sending the kids with his present, when his own parents wouldn’t even bother getting him one…   
  
Benjamin had taken care of him all along. The great-looking, solitary, rugged and honorable cattleman had always been there for him.   
  
The other thing Allie told him, when he came to Seabrook Island—it had hurt so much to hear it at that time—was that she slept with Noah. He didn’t know what to say at first.   
  
 _“Are you okay?”_  he eventually asked.   
  
She laughed through her tears. _“Had I known all this time what I’d been missing, I’d never have listened to that little voice.”_  
  
It felt like a punch to the guts back then, but now… He and Allie had waited for so long—and look where it gotten him.   
  
What was he waiting for now? What was the worst thing that could happen? His parents might find out?   
  
...And do what? Cut him off from the family firm? Send him away to some far-off land? Withhold his Christmas presents?   
  
Lon laughed a little before fastening his belt, picking his wet shirt up off the floor, tugging it over his head, shoving his feet into his boots, grabbing Benjamin’s hat, and rushing to the door. By now, the man could be as far as—   
  
The door burst open and the drover walked in, dripping water everywhere. “It’s not over—” And he pulled Lon into a kiss—   
  
A kiss that he gladly accepted, wrapping his arms around the man.   
  
Benjamin lifted him up, and Lon wrapped his legs around Benjamin’s, never breaking the kiss. The drover backed them up, slamming Lon against a wooden wall, before tearing his shirt off.   
  
Dropping the hat to the floor, Lon was tugging at Benjamin’s shirt with just as much eagerness, pulling the wet fabric over the man’s head and then moaning at the feel of the drover’s bare skin and body hair.   
  
He was lowered to the ground and his pants and underwear were pulled down. He undid the drover’s buckle and bent over to help pull the man’s tight riding pants down, as well.   
  
“The cabinet,” Lon said when he saw the man searching the room with his eyes.   
  
A small jar of Vaseline that Eddie used on the hinges stood there.  
  
While the memory of having older boys ejaculating semen between his thighs was repulsing and humiliating, Benjamin’s release was a thing Lon desperately desired.   
  
Letting Lon hold the jar, Benjamin picked him up—carrying him to his improvised bed of hay as if he were a bride on her wedding night.   
  
It made Lon’s heart beat frantically; he felt a little foolish, but he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, reminding himself that he wanted this.   
  
Lon was laid down on his back, and the man moved in, kissing a trail from his chest to his mouth. Benjamin was heavy—thick with muscles. His broad torso pressed Lon into the hay, his hot cock smeared Lon’s thighs and hips with thick pre-cum.   
  
They kissed, and they  _kissed_ ; disorientated clashes of lips and tongues that ended in loud pants, their breaths mingling, until one of them moved in again, capturing his lover’s lips once more.   
  
When Lon pressed his knees together, the drover pulled his mouth away… Holding Lon’s gaze, Benjamin guided his knees apart and wrapped Lon’s legs around his own waist until Lon was straddling him.   
  
Oh... Lon had heard of men who did that—in the Navy. If the stories were true, he knew of two officers who got court-martialed and dismissed after being caught doing that in a submarine machine room…   
  
…What would happen if Lieutenant John walked in on them?   
  
 _You’re thinking too much,_  the little voice said. Lon tried listening, but it said nothing more.   
  
“Now… you just relax, darling.” Benjamin took hold of Lon’s slim waist, lifting his pelvis as the man settled his hard prick between Lon’s legs.   
  
His big hands caressed Lon’s inner thighs and then settled behind his knees. Capturing Lon’s lips, the drover pushed his knees up—folding him in half.   
  
Benjamin was caressing Lon’s soft palate with his tongue, but all the young soldier was aware of was his upturned ass—the way the muscles of his anus flexed and opened when he was in that position.   
  
When the heavy head of Benjamin’s large cock pressed against his tight opening, Lon tore his mouth away, pressing his cheek to Benjamin’s, panting loudly while trying to decide if he could take it…   
  
Benjamin read his indecisiveness, and pressed only the tip of his cock in, then slid back out. He did it again and again, knowing how good the warm lube would feel over the stretched, sensitive skin. It had the desire effect—Lon hissed and began rocking his pelvis up to meet him.   
  
 _That a boy._    
  
Benjamin  _needed_  to fuck Lon, or he just might die of frustration; being Oklahoma’s first added a thrill that drove him wild. Come what may, for the rest of the kid’s life, he would be the man who had taken his virginity.   
  
In a sense, something of Lon would always be his. Always belong to him.   
  
Benjamin wanted that.   
  
He pressed the boy’s knees further up against his chest, spreading those coltish legs wider; then, he lowered himself into Lon.   
  
“Easy, darling.”   
  
The boy gasped in alarm, but he was doing great. Benjamin strengthened his hold and kept going.   
  
Lon waited for the pain, but it never came. He felt only the constant pressure and slow progress of the other man’s cock—in and out, in and out—until the stretch felt impossible and his eyes snapped open…   
  
He gazed into Benjamin brown eyes. It was done.   
  
Benjamin was in.   
  
Though the physical effort on Lon’s side was almost non-existent, he was sweating profusely, and his heart was racing.   
  
“I wanted to have you like this for so long,” Benjamin breathed into his ear.   
  
Lon tensed. Now that the drover had him like this, where did it leave him?   
  
God, he was even starting to think like a girl!   
  
“…I’m not sure I can do this…” Lon panted. The man was huge! He wanted the drover’s dick out as much as he wanted it in—as much as he wanted to come.   
  
“Sure you can, Oklahoma.” Benjamin combed wet bangs away from Lon’s eyes. “Now, wrap your legs around me.”   
  
Lon did, keeping his bandaged leg on top.   
  
That was when the drover started thrusting as hard as could be expected from such a massive man—and yet he was rhythmic, tempered… gentle. Well, as gentle as a man his size could be. Still, Lon felt he was being deeply and thoroughly fucked. His mind screamed against it—wrong, degrading…   
  
His instincts told him to flinch back, to put space between him and the other man… but Benjamin would have none of that; his grip on Lon’s waist kept him perfectly still while he got fucked.   
  
With each thrust, it was less difficult, though, until the man was moving in and out of him with perfect ease, as if nothing could be more natural than the two of them rolling around in the hay. It also got better and better, until Lon was out of his head, the other man rocking him into oblivion. Only the need to kiss would pull Lon back to the present every once in a while, and he sought Benjamin’s mouth blindly, plundering it clumsily before falling back to the hay.   
  
When Benjamin was approaching his climax—which was obvious, thanks to the way the man frantically thrust his hips—he brought one hand down to cup Lon’s ass. The drover repositioned his pelvis so that his cock brushed over the young man’s prostate with each thrust. Again, it had the effect he was going for; the sergeant was mewling incoherently, his soft whimpers turning into heated moans of pleasure.   
  
“That’s right darling—take it—that’s it,” he encouraged, feeling the younger man clenching tighter and tighter around him.   
  
“Oh, please… Ben, please!” Lon begged, his eyes closed and his head tipped back… he was panting through lush, parted, pink lips.   
  
 _Ben, eh?_  The drover smiled, sweat and rain dripping from his wet bangs. Though the kid probably had no idea what he was begging for, Benjamin knew just what to do. He shifted the boy’s pelvis again, supporting him with one strong arm while his other hand reached out to wrap his fingers around Lon’s cock.   
  
The boy hissed.   
  
They were both so close… All it took was a couple of firm strokes, and Lon was spilling over Benjamin’s hand in a rush, shocked into orgasm; he gasped sharply then moaned and his tight ass had somehow gotten tighter, squeezing Benjamin in a series of involuntary spasms, until, with desperate, erratic thrusts, the drover came, and came, and came… They hardly managed to kiss, afterward, they were both panting so hard—but he never stopped touching his lips to Oklahoma’s. 

**\----------------------**   
**46**   
**\----------------------**

  
Lon’s mind was blown. Distracted, he returned Benjamin’s demanding kiss, unable to form a single coherent thought.   
  
He was still exhausted and tingling all over when the drover rolled off him. Even so, a greedy demand for “More!” filled his mind and flooded his senses. His body couldn’t comply though, and so he stayed on his back, breathing hard and waiting for the impending panic to come.   
  
Only it never came.   
  
Benjamin drew him close and they lay peacefully together. Lon brought his hand up to lazily caress the man’s chest, enjoying the freedom to touch the half-wild man.   
  
The drover had one hand draped around Lon shoulders and he returned the favour with a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”   
  
“That’s hardly how I pictured it would happen,” Lon confessed.   
  
Benjamin was quiet, thinking. Suddenly, he tensed. “How old are you?” It wasn’t a question this time, but a demand.   
  
“Twenty-one.”   
  
“You’re just a kid!”   
  
“Oh yeah? How old are you?” Lon asked, hackles rising.   
  
The man chuckled and moved in to kiss him, using the dog-tags Lon wore around his neck to pull him close—making him forget what had made him so mad to begin with.   
  
“Twenty-nine,” Benjamin whispered against his lips.   
  
“And the lady?”   
  
A little surprised, Benjamin shrugged. “Her mid-thirties, I guess?” He pushed bangs from Lon’s forehead. “Why d’you ask, Oklahoma? Something I need to know?”   
  
“You tell me.”   
  
The drover arched one eyebrow and waited.   
  
God, he was gorgeous.   
  
“What were you doing—leaving her room so early in the morning?” Lon couldn’t keep the jealousy out of his voice. At least now he understood why—it wasn’t the drover he was jealous of.   
  
The man chuckled again. “What, Oklahoma? You think we all get to enjoy your eight-hour beauty sleep? Some of us start their day at four AM, when the first round-up of cattle is due. We were working.”   
  
“…Don’t call me ‘Oklahoma,’” Lon replied, having nothing better to say.   
  
“Okay, darling,” Benjamin said, managing to piss him off even in the midst of the afterglow. Sometimes, Lon suspected he did this on purpose, just to get a reaction. Determined, he pulled the covers up over them and pressed closer to his new lover.   
  
…They were lovers, right?   
  
He turned to ask, but looking into Benjamin’s sleepy brown eyes, he couldn’t find the courage. “Good night.”   
  
“Good night, Oklahoma.”   
  
…Happy and chagrined, Lon fell asleep. 

**\----------------------**   
**47**   
**\----------------------**

  
“My lady…”   
  
Lady Sarah Ashley was sitting on the open patio, waiting. It was past midnight and the rain was finally slowing down.   
  
“I don’t believe he will come.”   
  
“No. I know he won’t come. I should know—with my years of experience in waiting.”   
  
“Lady Sarah…” Eddie knelt beside her chair, but she was already shaking her head—taking back her words. She changed the subject. “What are you doing, wearing your sunhat at night?”   
  
“Me? I just got it back from a friend who no longer needs it.”   
  
“Miss?” a small voice called.   
  
They both turned to the door.   
  
“It’s Sarah,” the lady corrected again, and Nullah nodded.   
  
“…I can’t sleep.”   
  
“Oh? Would you like to hear a story?”   
  
“What story?”   
  
“Um, well… there’s a girl… and a young boy, who couldn’t sleep…”   
  
The orphan laughed and Sarah got up, smiling apologetically at Eddie.   
  
“Go.” The farmer stood up as well. “He needs you.”   
  
She left, and Eddie straightened his hat. He had a feeling everything was going to be just fine.   
  


**\----------------------**   
**48**   
**\----------------------**

  
Lon woke up to the sound of rain. The tangled blanket was covering only his pelvis, but he wasn’t cold. The sensation of being stretched—of having the drover inside of him—was gone. Only a trace of the Vaseline and Benjamin’s semen remained… and even that didn’t bring panic. Turning around to find that the drover had left, however, did.   
  
Sitting up in bed, he found a fresh and folded uniform waiting for him beside his pillow. So, the man didn’t sneak out. …It was six AM, and Lon felt awful—Benjamin must have been out and about in the rain.   
  
And still he needed to know—were they lovers?   
  
The answer to that came easily enough…   
  
He was spending the rest of the day in bed, reading a copy of The  _Grapes of Wrath_  that he’d carried around with him forever but had never had the time to read… until now. Well, at least he was trying to read—his thoughts kept drifting back to the previous night.   
  
At noon, the door opened—he guessed it was his lunch and climbed out of bed. His every limb felt shaky and weak as he took in the sight of the drover standing at his door.   
  
“Benjamin? …Is everything okay?”   
  
The drover crossed the barn with sweeping strides, pulled Lon close, and captured his lips. “Everything’s perfect.” And then, Benjamin gave him another kiss—a longer, deeper kiss.   
  
They were lovers all right. 


	9. Chapter 9

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**49**   
**\----------------------**

 

 **December 28 th, 1941.** 

It was better than Benjamin had dared to hope for. On the following day, as soon as he was done working at the cattle station, he took Lon to his own private room and made love to him there. Ever since then, the boy stayed in his room—and more often then not, in his bed.

The young man had the libido of, well, a young man in his first sexual relationship. If it was up to Oklahoma, they’d have sex several times a day.

But with the preparations for the “Big Drove,” as they began calling it, Benjamin was often too tired. In many cases, during foreplay, he would press his fingers into the boy and begin gently massaging his prostate while they kissed, not stopping until Lon came.

The kid was always surprised and disappointed at that; it seemed he craved Benjamin fucking him. But the disappointment never lasted long—Lon would always fall asleep shortly after reaching climax.

It was, in fact, very endearing—Benjamin had never seen a more touching sight than his eager young lover, confused and frustrated at ejaculating without any genital stimulation, thendisappointed at his inability to get fucked the way he wanted.

The things Benjamin had to teach his inexperienced lover made him grin into the sleeping boy’s hair. But, all in good time.

They were leaving for Darwin in two days. The American soldiers were given orders to stay at the ranch nevertheless.

It meant he and Lon wouldn’t see each other for two weeks or so, but once they’d settled in at the new ranch, it was less than an hour drive back to the homestead…

Even those two weeks sounded like an eternity now, and Benjamin wished to put the Big Drove behind him already.

 **\----------------------**  
**50**   
**\----------------------**

 

The last dinner party was over.

The inner courtyard was empty.

The shorthorns had all been counted and listed. The horses were ready. The porters had taken all of their personal belongings to the new ranch, escorted by Eddie, who would wait there, taking care of the property until they arrived.

“Do you think I’ll like it there?” Nullah asked. Their attempts to send him with Eddie and Bandy Legs were all in vain—he refused leaving Sarah’s side. Only after the drover okayed it did the lady agree to take the boy with them.

“You’ll love it.”

“And Bandy Legs is coming too, right?”

“Yes, and Eddie and Daisy and the drover… We’ll live like a big happy family up there.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” the boy asked, remembering the last time he’d been to Darwin; suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be anywhere near it again.

“I’m certain.” Lady Sarah Ashley said, hugging the boy to her.

 

 **\----------------------**  
**51**   
**\----------------------**

**December 29 th, 1941. **

“It’s awful,” Lon said, staring at the water that shimmered behind a wall of reed, clutching the vial of rosehip oil the doctor had given him.

He hadn’t retuned to the bog since his first night in Australia, and he was surprised that Benjamin had found him so easily. He didn’t want to talk to anyone after seeing the doctor, especially not to his lover.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

The doctor removed the stitches. Lon was going back to duty tomorrow.

“Come on, let’s get inside.”

The sun was setting over the homestead and its leafless baobab trees. They made their way to Benjamin’s room. The ranch was empty save for the soldiers who were still staying there, and none of them paid the slightest attention to Lon or the drover. All of the workers had left—only Sarah’s entourage and two other cattlemen—Benjamin’s friends—remained. They, too, were to leave tomorrow evening and start the Big Drove.

Every once in a while, a far-off vehicle would circle the farm, making clouds of dust rise in the distance.

“Like vultures!” Benjamin cursed, wondering what Barons Fletcher and Flynn had in store for them. Clearly, they were not going to let them drive the cattle away in peace.

He opened the door to his room and waited for Lon. The soldier entered and stopped by the bed, hunched up and depressed.

“C’mon, Oklahoma. I’m sure it’s not that bad.” He stood behind the boy and wrapped his arms around him.

The only answer was a loud exhale.

“I see.” The drover pressed a kiss to Lon’s neck. It won him a more heated intake of air. He pried the vial out of Lon’s hands and began undoing the kid’s Army pants. When he dropped Lon’s pants to the floor, the boy looked away… Benjamin guided him onto the bed.

 _“No, no!”_  Lon didn’t expect that the man would uncap the vial, but he did—pouring the oil into his palms then taking gentle hold of Lon’s leg.

Those brown eyes, as the sergeant had learned in the past, were mesmerizing. Benjamin held his gaze while applying oil on the scar from the stampede—the imperfection that Lon was so ashamed of. There wasn’t a hint of disgust on his handsome face, and the rest of Lon’s fears melted away.

Some minutes later, Lon was too relaxed to register that his underpants were being dragged down. He was lying there, half-naked and a little self-conscious, but he and the drover had two weeks apart looming before them, and there was nothing he’d deny his lover now.

The drover was kissing a path from Lon’s knees, up his thighs, and to his groin. He took the half-hard boy into his mouth and pressed slippery fingers into him.

Benjamin couldn’t think of a better way to reassure his young, shy lover than by making love to him—the way he’d so desperately been wanting. Replacing his fingers with his cock felt like coming home…

Oklahoma was making the most beautiful sounds, then.

He must have done something wonderful in a past life, and Lon Hammond Jr. was his prize.

Moving together in a steadily escalating pace, they didn’t hear the postal delivery call from outside.

 **\----------------------**  
**52**   
**\----------------------**

**December 30 th, 1941. **

There was nothing left. With the soldiers lined up outside, the homestead was completely empty. The courtyard was bare—the long tables were gone.

Lon and his men stood at attention, while the captain and his lieutenant inspected their polished weapons, tidy uniforms, and shiny shoes.

“You, Sergeant—how are feeling?”

“I’m feeling well, thank you, sir.”

He’d never felt worse.

When he came to Australia, this ranch in the middle of nowhere was, to him, a death sentence. Now, seeing it empty like this was breaking his heart.

“We will meet again in the backyard in two hours. That should give you girls enough time to pack your cosmetics. At ease! Out of my sight!”

He needed to talk to Benjamin!

The soldiers scattered, disappearing into the homestead and different sheds and barns.

Only Lon was rushing to the cattle station…

The cowsheds were empty. The horses and dogs were gone.

_He said he’d be back!_

The drover said he’d be back to say farewell; Lon desperately needed to talk to him!

He ran forward with no idea where he was heading until he saw it—

A cattle drive was in progress—a cattle drive in a scale he’d never imagined possible!

_The Big Drove._

Thousands of shorthorns divided into two herds with three cattlemen riding around them, whips crackling to keep them in order.

 

 

He ran down the hill, heading toward them, his rifle bouncing, hitting his back as he forced himself to go fast—his legs moving so quickly that he was afraid he might fall and reopen the wound, but he didn’t stop running—couldn’t stop, at some point.

As he drew near, he was suddenly afraid that his fast movements would cause another stampede or upset the shepherd dogs enough that they would attack him, but they were busy barking at the herds.

Lost—he looked around him, trying to tell his drover apart from the other mounted men …and women.

Lady Sarah Ashley was riding with them, using her own whip to put the beasts in order. Daisy was waiting with Nullah not far behind.

When Lon turned back he sighed in relief—Benjamin was riding toward him.

_“Oklahoma?!”_

“I need to speak to you!” Lon shouted, looking up at the man.

“Okay. Climb aboard!” Benjamin offered him his hand.

“What…? He can’t carry the two of us…”

“You weigh close to nothing, Oklahoma; come here.”

Lon shot a glance over his shoulder to look at the drover’s friends. “They’ll see us.”

“And then what? Tell your parents?” The drover chuckled.

Seeing the challenge in his brown eyes, Lon gave the man his hand and placed his good leg in the stirrup. He was yanked up and seated in front of Benjamin.

“Come on—there’s something I want to show you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**\----------------------**  
**53**   
**\----------------------**

The homestead was built between a river and a mountain; Benjamin was riding toward the river at the base of the mountain.

The view was breathtaking; the sun was beginning to set, coloring the mountain a brilliant shade of red, which shimmered a deeper maroon over the river’s surface.

But Lon cared less for the view and more for the company. He pressed back against the older man, welcoming his body heat, despite the scorching Australian weather. He was trying to breathe in Benjamin’s scent—the faint smell of leather and sweat and tobacco.

_Tell him already, you coward!_

Benjamin stopped the horse at a high vantage point, which afforded a perfect view of the river, and then he helped Lon down.

_“Oh, wow!”_

“Knew you’d like it.” The drover smiled a rare, beautiful smile. He seemed to be in a good mood.

“What’s up with you?” Lon asked, smiling as well. Benjamin’s joy seemed contagious.

“Hmm…” Benjamin moved closer and wrapped his arms around Lon’s waist. “Let me see…” And he pressed his lips to Lon’s, kissing him softly for a few seconds before tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Lon sucked on Benjamin’s tongue and then caressed it with his own, trying to lick at the faint traces of tobacco—memorizing his lover’s taste and mapping the man’s mouth.

_Tell him!_

He tore his mouth away, but the drover yanked him back for another kiss, and Lon was weak.

“I think I know what’s up with me.” The cattleman tenderly caressed Lon’s face.

It hurt so much.

“I’m leaving,” Lon blurted out.

 _“What?”_  Benjamin took a step back, his smile gone in an instant.

“The orders arrived yesterday. Mobilization orders. Japan invaded Hong Kong—they want us in Britain.”

The Australian wasn’t meeting his gaze. Instead, Ben narrowed his eyes, looking over Lon’s shoulder.

Only the wind made any sound for quite some time.

“…Benjamin…? I  _have_  to go.”

“For how long?”

“What?”

“How long were you drafted?” the man demanded, his piercing brown eyes finally meeting Lon’s blue ones.

“One year. I have four months left.”

“Then come back here,” the man said grimly, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“What a hearty invitation!” Lon tried laughing, but the other man didn’t blink. “I… I can’t.” The sergeant dropped his gaze to the ground.

“Why the hell not?”

“Four months—a year. That’s just the beginning. The brigadier general has agreed to allow me back into the 33rd Pursuit Squadron if I sign up for another five years, so—”

“Five years?!”

“Yeah. My parents wanted—”

“Fuck what your parents wanted!”

“They’re my parents!” Lon snarled.

“That’s a beaut, mate. Maybe if you live the life they want for you long enough, maybe, just maybe, they’ll remember you on the next holiday!”

“They want what’s best—”

“The hell they do. What do  _you_  want, Lon?”

It was probably the first time the drover used his real name; the sound of his voice took all the fight out of Lon. He looked away, breathing hard. “How come you never took me swimming in the river?”

“He got a little shy now, but there’s sixteen-foot croc that normally rests just over there.” The drover gestured with his hand, never taking his eyes off Lon, waiting, clearly not letting the change of subject distract him.

Lon had nothing to say.

“…What do you  _want,_  Lon? If you want to sign up for another five years—you do that. But if—”

Unable to put it into words, Lon stepped forward and captured Benjamin’s face in his hands. They kissed violently; it hurt them both, but they didn’t stop.

“Come back?” Benjamin asked breathlessly, then crushed their mouths together before Lon could reply.

“I promise,” Lon pulled back long enough to say. “I’ll… I’ll come back for this.”

He removed his Army tags, knowing his superior would give him hell for it, but he could always use his shorter chain until they got him a replacement. But suddenly, Lon stopped in mid-motion, letting the metal string sway between them, uncertain if this gesture was a welcomed one.

Benjamin guided Lon’s hands to the back of his neck, waiting for Lon to clasp the chain. Then the drover tucked his lover’s tags beneath the faded bandanna he always wore.

“Good. I’ll be waiting.”

They moved in for another violent kiss, but half-way there, they slowed, hesitating. With their eyes closed, they leaned into each other, just breathing, savoring.

Saying it all… without saying a word.

 

 

 **\----------------------**  
**54**   
**\----------------------**

**January 1 st, 1942.**

The C-43 Skytrooper was already waiting for them—Lon barely had time for one last smoke, and so he reached into his pocket.

_“Where’s Eddie?”_

_“He’s already at the new cattle station in Darwin, waiting for us.”_

_“Oh? You know we’re not talking?”_

_“I know.”_

_“Will you tell him that… that…”_

_“I will. He left something for you…”_

Benjamin handed Lon a pack of Chesterfield cigarettes.

 _Stockade_ _cigarettes…_

Lon missed old-man Eddie Tallara already. He had to remind himself again and again that he was coming back in just four months.

“All aboard!” Lieutenant John commanded.

“Sir?” Thomas asked.

“You heard him,” Lon told his soldiers, tossing his cigarette away and pressing the Australian Akubra hat to his chest, not caring if his soldiers recognized it. They weren’t  _his_ soldiers for much longer, anyway.

_“You take care of yourself, Oklahoma. Be careful.”_

_“You too.”_

_“Me? What could possibly happen in Darwin, Australia?”_

Lon noticed Maggie, standing by the fence, watching Cole go. The sky behind her was a deceptively lucid, unblemished blue. It was going to rain.

 _THIRSTY?_  the vending machine asked him.

 _Parched._ Lon closed his eyes. He could almost taste the drover’s chewing tobacco.

Clutching the brim of his hat, he climbed the ramp and took his seat.

“This is USAF aircraft Alpha-Charlie-Foxtrot-8-5. Seeking permission to take off, over.”

“Copy that, Charlie-Foxtrot. Permission granted.”

The C-43 Skytrooper was groaning unhappily, shaking so fiercely that for a frightening moment, the soldiers on it wondered whether the pilot would manage to get airborne before they hit the control tower.

But the plane finally stabilized and the tremors stopped.

They took off.

 _Four months,_  Lon promised himself.  _Just four more months…_

But all during the flight, one thought never stopped nagging him:  _“Me? What could possibly happen in Darwin, Australia?”_

Leaning back into his seat, Lon sighed, closing his eyes.  _What, indeed?_

And he hugged Benjamin’s hat to his chest.

 

 

 

The End.


	11. Australia - Fanart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for the fic Australia (Lon/The Drover)

 

**Fanvids:**

 

**Fanart:**

 

Source: http://img04.deviantart.net/3c12/i/2008/223/2/6/australia_by_asreal01.jpg

 

 

 

 

Source: http://sg-fic.livejournal.com/?tag=australia


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